Recollections of Dublin Castle and of Dublin society

A

Recollections of
Dublin Castle ^
of Dublin Society

Recollections of *
Dublin Castle #
of Dublin Society
By A Native * * *

Brentano's, New York
1902

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> i^nr

71

Recollections of Dublin Castle
& of Dublin Society

OF dear, old, and dirty Dublin — Lady Mor-
gan's well-known description — I was a denizen
for forty years and more. So I am well
versed in all its ways, humours, delusions,
and amiable deceits, and might claim to know
it by heart. Dear it was — old, certainly , and
dilapidated beyond dispute. As to the dirt,
it was unimpeachable. No native, however,
was known to admit any of these blemishes.

It is a pleasant and rather original old
city, where people of good spirits will find
plenty to entertain them, but offering one
enjoyable characteristic in the general spirit
of "make-believe" (humbug is too coarse a
term) which prevails everywhere. The natives

20G1096

Recollections of Dublin Castle

will maintain against all comers that it is the
finest city going, and that its society is ** second
to none, sir." Among themselves even there
is a good-natured sort of conspiracy to keep up
the fiction, always " making believe," as much
as the Little Marchioness herself. " Where,
my boy, would you see such beautiful faces or
th' Irish eyes — don't tell me — and where 'ud "
(this " 'ud " is a favourite abbreviation) " 'ud
you hear such music, or find such social in-
tercourse, or such general * divarshions ' ? " I,
like the rest, was beguiled by all this and
believed in it all, and it was not until years
after I had left that the glamour dissolved.
It was thus that we used to assure each other
that certain persons, trading in a modest sort
of way, were " merchant princes, my boy " ;
that a few professional people were " leaders
of society," and so on. All this was harmless
enough and contributed to the general happi-
ness.

The chief " make-believe," however, was
the Viceregal Court, or " Coort," that strange,

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theatrical installation, whose tawdry influence
affected everything in the place down to the
commonest little tradesman, or to the " Castle
waiter," whose service it was a great comfort
to secure, even at a higher fee.

As I look back across this long stretch of
years, to what were really very jocund days,
one scene rises before me which seems highly
significant, and which furnishes a sort of key-
note for the various things that I am about
to recall. It was at a concert in Dublin —
at " Th' Ancient Concert Rooms." An
English friend was staying with us, and,
not without pride, we promised to take
him to a Philharmonic concert, supposed to
be highly fashionable and exclusive because
" his Excellency" and his Court was to attend.
"Th' Ancient Concert Rooms" was a rather
shabby tenement in Brunswick Street, about
the size and proportions of a moderate Dis-
senting chapel ; but it justly boasted that it
was the " finest thing of the kind in Ireland,"
or " Daublin," as the genteeler ones strove to
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

sound it. (There were always numbers of
things that were " the finest in Ireland,"
particularly that "fine animal" the horse.)
We had scarce seated ourselves in "the
reserved seats *' (little is worth having in
this city unless it be reserved for you and
not for others), when suddenly there came a
bustle and a fluster. Every one rose to his
feet ; there were agitated cries of " Here he
is ! He's coming !" and half a dozen men,
carrying white wands, appeared, struggling
their way along a very narrow gangway. A
dapper-looking, clerk-like man came last,
wearing a star, following the stewards. This
was THE LORD LIEUTENANT, or the Lord
" Z,*y/nant," as he was usually spoken of by
the crowd. He came along bowing and
smiling, and trying to be as gracious as
he could. Following him were the aides-de-
camp, or " edukongs," supercilious young
men, with blue silk facings to their coats
— sure and certain seal of their office,
the blue being reverenced, even to all but
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prostration, by the society of Dublin — behind
whom glided a number of limp, faded dames,
some veterans, attired in garments as faded
as their persons — the "Ladies of the House-
hold"— wives of the secretaries, or ancients
who were passed on from Government to
Government, and who grew more firmly fixed
as years went on. It was entertaining to
see how the suite behaved, with what an
air of pride, and at the same time of assumed
affability, they moved on in the train, two
and two. In the admiring crowds which
lined the avenues they would recognise a
friend or acquaintance, and were not too
proud to nod. The high officials of "the
Court" were very stern and brusque even.
They believed most heartily in the whole
fiction. This curious procession was invariably
repeated on every public occasion, and was
ever painfully followed by greedy, admiring
eyes. Three rows of hard wooden benches
rising above each other under the skimpy
gallery was the august throne of the Viceregal
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

party. "God Save the Queen" was then
struck up, every eye riveted on the great man
and the group about him. That procession
used to remind me of those other " tag-rag "
processions which would come on in the grand
Operas — those poor limp creatures who walk
behind Marguerite of Navarre, or some other
queen, in faded " streeling " robes. These
high ladies passed on with a smiling, depre-
cating air — half ashamed, half proud of their
position.

Well, to return to my Englishman. I
noticed that he was gazing through his
monocle with unfeigned astonishment and
amusement at the show. " Dear me ! " he
said at last, " this is all most astonishing.
Think of that man in London ! Why, no
one would turn their head to look at him.
It's most singular ! " And so it was. But
it was the same everywhere, and on every
occasion. Did his carriage stop at a house,
a crowd gathered, eager almost to feel the
horses, supposed with the vehicle to be hired
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from a London job-master. There was a
story that at one of these concerts, during
a very cold season, a black bottle full of hot
water was brought in, carried by one of the
Viceregal party, for the benefit of one of the
young ladies. The tale went about in all
sorts of shapes. " Wasn't it terrible ? " said
an old dame. " He has grown so besotted
with drink that he actually brought in his
brandy-bottle with him to the concert ! "

The little scene I have been describing is
significant, for the same unmeaning adoration
permeated every class of society. This theat-
rical make-believe of a Court leavened every-
thing. Everybody played at this sham
Royalty, and, I am convinced, firmly be-
lieved in it, or fancied they did. The
" Kestle " was the cynosure. To be asked
to the " Kestle," to know people at the
" Kestle," or even to know people who knew
people at the " Kestle," was Elysium itself !

The Pinchbeck beings of the Castle
naturally gave themselves great airs, often
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

ridiculing those who so venerated them, but
would condescend to accept any invitations
that were humbly offered. Here they could
star it. They were the pure " English, you
know," though among them there were a
few " natives," of an inferior caste, and who
were treated as such. These latter had to
console themselves with the more obscure
circles. Truly, as Thackeray once wrote —
u A Court Kalendar is bad enough, but what
is it to a sham Court Kalendar ! " It was indeed
said that one dame had been lent a little "box"
in the Park by a former Lord-Lieutenant,
beyond the memory of man almost, and had
remained ever since, all attempts to dislodge
her proving unavailing.

The Castle, where this Card King lived,
was a great centre of the city. In my child-
hood, boyhood, youth, manhood, I suppose
no word rang out more loudly or more
frequently in one's ears, or inspired such
an awesome feeling. Often I passed it ; often
was I in it. There were held the " levys,"
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" draw'n rooms," " Pathrick's balls," dinners,
concerts, and dances galore. You went from
Westmoreland Street — often sounded West-
morehnd Street — to the Royal Exchange, a
rather stately building, which brought you to
the steep" Cark Hill," /.*., Cork Hill, on the
top of which was the awful enclosure. It
was rather an imposing place, with a great
gateway and a guard-house adjoining, out of
which — for what reason Heaven knows ! —
a large sort of church steeple rose. But every-
thing in Dublin is more or less unaccountable.
The older churches are mostly without
steeples, while a guard-house has one. Within,
there is a large and stately courtyard, and on
the left an archway, opening on a second,
viz., " The Lower Kestle yard " ; though it
seems undignified to call these august en-
closures " yards." Round the first court
were the residences of the high and mighty
officers — the Chamberlain (minus " Lord ") —
Comptroller, all squeezed, sorely cribbed and
cabined into little sets of rooms, much as
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

those of smaller degree are at the Ambassa-
dors' Court, St. James's Palace. It was often
a pitiable thing for those poor creatures,
wives and children — who had all to " cram "
into these straitened apartments. Their wage
was miserable enough, but there was free
lodging, with occasional board, and it may be
coals ; consequently, these offices were much
sought after by the broken-down peer or
baronet, to whom such quarters were an object ;
while the Lord Lieutenant was glad to have
persons of title about him. The aides-de-camp
lived on their very position — on the strength
of which they might have been at free board
every day of their life. The paid aide —
this was much insisted on — had, I believe,
about j£ioo a year, with quarters ; the extra,
nothing.

And the household ! — that awe-inspiring
word ! There was the " Private Secretary,"
the " Additional Private Secretary," and, odd
to say, " Assistant Private Secretary," State
Steward, Comptroller, Gentleman Usher,
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Chamberlain, and actually a " Master of the
Horse," who looked after the job-master-
hired animals mentioned already. Then came
three paid aides and four unpaid ditto. There
were also " gentlemen at large,"* and " gen-
tlemen-in-waiting." There was the " Physician
in Ordinary," " Surgeon in Ordinary," " Sur-
geon to the Household," " Surgeon Oculist,"
and " Surgeon Dentist." These last were en-
titled to appear at the levees and to be so
announced, and, for aught I know, to walk
in the tag, rag, and bob-tail procession.

A nice lady friend of my own, suffering from
toothache, hurried to her dentist, and sent in her
name. " Is it see you to-day, Ma'am ? It's
quite unpossible. Isn't he upstairs undressin'
himself to go to the levy ? " This was actually
the " state dentist," a sort of humorist, who
spent half his time — and the patient's — in tell-
ing droll stories, walking about the room, &c.,
the other candidates waiting patiently in the

* Little Lowry Balfour was a permanent gentleman
at large, taken over as in an inventory.
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

parlour, but to be by-and-by entertained in
like manner, and to keep other people waiting.
This system extends to a good many other
things in the country.

The Castle was full of a number of ancient
retainers who were kept " on the establish-
ment " almost to their dissolution, or from
the sheer force of actual occupation. When
the disastrous news of an impending change
of government was in the air a sort of
panic set in, and the retinue, generally,
" trembled in its boots." The older retainers,
however, knew pretty well they were
fairly secure, for the new figure-head felt that
he must have experienced persons about him
who " knew the ways of the place ; " these
persons had, moreover, powerful friends in
their old employers, who would good-
naturedly " say a word " in favour of the
old hand. " He has been there these thirty
years, and is popular with the natives. It
would break his heart were he turned out."
And so, almost invariably, they kept their

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ground, saying perhaps — only it was long
before that famous speech was uttered — " J'y
suis et fy reste"

Two officers of state it was almost impossi-
ble to dispense with — the Comptroller or
Major Domo, who knew all the ways and
wiles and perhaps tricks of the Dublin trades-
men— what was the " right thing " to order,
how much to be saved, what amount of
dinners were to be given, and so on. The
Court was an expensive one, and the unhappy
nobleman felt he would be a victim to
pillage unless he were protected. The other
office was that of Chamberlain, which, as may
be imagined, was one of extraordinary diffi-
culty and delicacy. For no one could conceive
the pressure that was put upon this official,
the persuasions, wheedling, intimidation ; and
to secure — what ? An invitation to a ball,
concert, or dinner. It seemed a matter of life
and death. People unblushingly asked to be
asked. A refusal brought unbounded anger,
rage even ; with hints as to vengeance at the
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

next election. Often mistakes were made, and
highly desirable and suitable folks affronted.
It was absolutely necessary, therefore, to have
a well-experienced official, who knew the whole
awkward business by heart as it were, who
could soothe and hold out promises, and at
the proper season assume " a high tone."
He should know every one — who they were
and what their claims. It was impossible,
therefore, that a new man could be of much
assistance ; rather, it was certain he would
" get us into a scrape."

Among these superannuated worthies was
old Colonel Willis, who dated from the days
of Lord Mulgrave (later Lord Normanby),
and, I believe, held on till his death. He
was Comptroller, I think ; I see him now,
with his grey head and blue coat — a veritable
retainer — talking of the good old times, and
perhaps the butt of the new men. Who of
those times — 'tis forty years since — will forget
the jovial Captain Williams, " Bob Williams,"
as he was invariably known ? Every one

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knew and, I fancy, liked Bob. He, too, I
think, dated from the Normanby days, had
married a beautiful daughter of a local
solicitor of good family — which was destined
to have an extraordinary rise in the world.
For another of the sisters married first
a baronet, and at last actually carried off the
Viceroy himself, Lord Fortescue — an extra-
ordinary coup indeed. Nor was this all.
"Bob's" daughter was married to the present
Duke of Wellington, while a third espoused
a baronet. A very fortunate "record" this
for a Dublin solicitor's family. Bob Williams
was story-collector to the Court, and, having
an appreciation of the native Irish, was con-
stantly repeating things he had picked up
in social life. He made a particular study
of the numerous fat and vulgar women who
pervaded the place, always treating them
with much gravity and sympathy, and thus
" drawing them out." These poor dames,
touched and proud at his notice, responded
heartily. He was a good-humoured fellow,
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

too, and could bear a joke at his own
expense, of which there were plenty afloat.

C , the ex-chaplain, a hearty friend and

admirer of his, was perpetually repeating
Bob's adventures, and what traps he had
fallen into. One of these I recall, and it
was amusing in its way. Once in " Stephen's
Green" the carnage of a stout dame was in
some trouble, owing to restive horses, when
Bob, who was passing by, gallantly rushed
forward to offer his aid. He rescued the lady
and her daughters, and helped to get the
horses right ; then went on to the United Ser-
vice Club, where he was presently relating his
exploits — with variations and additions — to a
large group of his friends. " And her gra-
titude, my boys !" he went on. " I shouldn't

be surprised if she left me ." At this

moment a little Irish page, in a queer coat
and large hat, came in, led up to Bob by the

servant. " Lady says she lost her purse

when ye helped her out of the carriage ; and

please, she says, do yez know anything about

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it ? " We may conceive the roar that greeted
Bob.

Another of these regularly " passed on "
veterans was Everard — Captain Walling
Everard — a sort of eternal Private Secretary
to the Lord Lieutenant. No matter who
came or who went, the cheerful Everard always
" went on for ever." I knew him well, and
found him always good-natured and friendly.
He was supposed to know many things : for
the Viceregal post-bag always brought the
most singular mysteries, with applications
from the most unexpected sort of people.
However, he was discretion itself, consider-
ing himself from long residence a regular
inhabitant of the place. Adroitly enough,
instead of taking any airs, he cultivated
sympathetic relations with the natives, whose
dinners, on a small and friendly scale, he was
glad to partake of. He had thus a circle of
personal friends, and I suspect was rather
looked down upon as vieux jeu by his mates.
The ex-chaplain had, I think, been quartered
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

upon him as " an extra-assistant secretary,"
and I fancy made the quiet and old-fashioned
principal not a little uncomfortable by his
sarcastic tongue and raillery. Everard had
built up quite a local reputation by his acting
and figured largely in the yearly performances
given by the Garrison. He was good in
Buckstonian parts, where his exceedingly quiet
drollery used to produce an effect. Indeed, he
carried the thing so far as to become perfectly
placid, doing little more than repeat the
words. The public, however, was enchanted ;
the look of the man was enough, and they
supplied the rest.

These Garrison ^mature Theatricals — such
was often the pronunciation — were always
given during Lent at the little theatre in
Brunswick Street, " The Queen's." This was
a small, poorish place, the " boxes " having
only a couple of stinted rows : stalls were not
as yet. Yet the ardour for seats was extra-
ordinary. Everard was manager, leading
comic man, rehearser and everything. I was
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present when some lady and her daughters
forced their way into his room to get
him to grant them tickets " for one night
only," for every one had to subscribe for the
set of four. Their plea was an odd one.
" Ah ! Captain, sure you know we're Catholics
and can't go in Lent. Only on this one night,
which is outside the Lent, d'ye understand."
They pressed him so hard that at last he said :
" Well, if you will give me in writing your
solemn word of honour that you will not go
to a single party or ball during the Lent
you shall have the ticket." The ladies, thus
" cornered," got quite confused and angry,
and flustered out. " They were not going
to lose their balls for the fellow. Like his
impudence ! "

There was one gala performance of Henry
IV. at the old Theatre Royal in which
our Everard vastly distinguished himself as
FalstafF. This theatre was a very fine house
indeed, only a size or so smaller than Drury
Lane and built by the same architect. It had

Recollections of Dublin Castle

a very grand and spacious stage with a vast
arch, from which descended the good old
green curtain in swelling folds, always an
addition to stage illusion. It covered a great
deal of ground, having a large enclosure in
front, with colonnades and dwelling-houses
attached for the officials. It was, however, in
a sad state of decrepitude, but rather grand
in its decay. It had fine traditions, nearly
every performer and singer of eminence
having strutted his or her hour on its boards.
I have heard Sir Henry Irving, Sir Squire
Bancroft, and others speak with an affectionate
admiration of the pleasure they had in per-
forming there. There, too, have I heard Grisi
and Mario and Lablache sing to tumultuous
applause. I have seen Taglioni dance — totter,
rather — in her decay, bien entendu ; have heard
Patti, Piccolomini, Macready, the Keans. A
" grand stair " led up to the boxes, and there
was a grander saloon. One day about two
o'clock, during the run of a pantomime, news
spread through the City that the old " Royal "

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was afire. The hapless stage manager, one
Egerton by name, had been at our house that
very morning in reference to some amateur
performance, and rushed to his theatre when
he heard the news ; he never came out, but
was burnt to a cinder.

I must say a word of " Old Granby," as he
was called, the stage manager at the Theatre
Royal. He was one of the good old school
in the Haymarket time, the school of Buck-
stone, Howe, Chippendale, and Co., with
whom Granby was, as it were, brought up.
He was the legitimate old testy father and
disinheriting uncle. He had a red face, a
stout neck and body, and a thick, unctuous
voice — so necessary for such parts. As the
Haymarket broke up gradually, there was no
place for old Granby, and he was glad to get
this berth with Harris at Dublin.

I have a very early recollection of Sir
Henry Irving, certainly some forty years
back. Miss Herbert, with her delightful
company, was at the Theatre Royal doing the

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Recollections of Dublin Castle

old comedies. I was getting a newspaper one
afternoon at a shop near the theatre, kept by
a good-humoured buxom lady, when two
young men came in, both arrayed in rather
rusted black, tight-fitting garments, and both
yellow of complexion. One was most pictu-
resque with his floating dark hair, altogether
suggesting Jingle ; the other was a good-
looking fellow enough ; but both had the
regular Dickens air. When they had gone
out I asked the shop lady about them — was

not one Mr. , the leading comedian?

" Oh yes," she said carelessly, " but he's
nothing at all. Ah ! Mr. Irving's the
one," she added with a languishing look.
" And who is Mr. Irving ? " I asked. " Oh,
the nicest, most perfect gentleman, so clever,
and charming in every way ! Comes in every
morning, himself, for his penny paper." The
other was a far more important person in every
way : yet see how the charm of Irving had
thus worked, even in this humble quarter.
His son, H. B., is almost a replica of his sire

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as he appeared at this time. Never, indeed,
was man, or Englishman rather, so physically
adapted to the profession, or so strikingly
fashioned. I little thought then that I should
come to be a friend of his, or that he would
rise to such eminence. I also " mind " the
days when the facetious Johnny Toole was
the regular first " comic man " at the little
Queen's Theatre in Great Brunswick Street.
He remained there for a long time. Robson
also served his apprenticeship in Dublin at
both the theatres for a number of years.
I was amused one day to hear an English
friend say in the full flush of Robson's success,
" Why, he was for years in Dublin, and your
stupid people never found him out." The
truth was, that he was " found out " almost at
once, and was generally followed and admired.
It was, in fact, to his Dublin success that he
owed his town engagement. Harris's leading
"June Preemier," as I have heard it called, was
a gentlemanly young actor of good presence,
named Sydney Bancroft, the present Sir Squire,

Recollections of Dublin Castle

He, too, was there many years. He was ad-
mirable, giving the young-lover parts just
sufficient emphasis.

I had much enjoyment out of our Theatre
Royal. I even recall the time when it had
its regular stock company — old Barrett, a
racy, crusted comedian, and the Ternan
family, one of whom is named in Box's
will. I had a sort of subscription to the
good old house, which was arranged in a very
singular but very ingenious way. There was
an ironmonger who had bought up " for a
song " numbers of the old debentures ; he
divided each debenture into six parts — a
night for each — and for thirty shillings I
bought one of these, which gave admission
for one night in the week all the year round
— not a bad bargain. Charles Kean, who
was much entertained in Dublin, used to tell
good stories of his Irish adventures. As at
Limerick, when he was playing Hamlet, a
sort of popular buffoon in a hunting cap
made absurd speeches, causing roars of
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laughter. In an agony at having to go
back to his Hamlet monologues after such
an interruption, he gave the man money to
go away. But after the next act the crowd
roared for their favourite. The fellow came
out : " Bedad, I cant, boys ; I'm ped by
Cain not to." Another of Charles Kean's
stories was of the same theatre, where an
actress much advanced towards maternity
was singing plaintively the song in The
Stranger, " I have a silent sorrow here."
On its repetition some one in the gallery
called out : " Faix, and it'll soon spake for
itself." In those days Kean used to come
attended by the pleasing Ellen Tree as his
" leading lady." I well remember the great
interest excited when it was known that the
pair had been married that very morning.
And they actually appeared that night
together as Benedick and Beatrice in Much
Ado about Nothing. Needless to say, their
a propos jests, " When I said I would die a
bachelor," etc., were taken up and hugely

Recollections of Dublin Castle

relished. John Kemble, it is said, on the
day of his marriage forgot all about it, and
had to be fetched from the theatre.

But the most inspiring of these visits, the
impression of which I have never yet for-
gotten, though it is a good fifty years since,
was the apparition of the truly classical Helen
Faucit. I see it all vividly now ; the night
comes back upon me with all its charm and fair
colouring. Oh, how enraptured we all were,
for it was Antigone, with the temples, and the
choruses, and the classical dresses, and the
more classical head — a noble one — of the
fair Helen. How we followed every note
of that tender, most musical voice, chaunt
rather, which wound its way into the very
soul ! That classical vision haunted my
boyish dreams for weeks, and does still,
especially the mournful cadences of her ex-
quisite voice, the noble gestures, and her
grand declamation. It seemed some super-
natural figure lent temporarily to this base
earth. Never since have I understood in the
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same way the solemnity of the Greek play.
I lately found in an old diary a youthful
critique written on this far-off performance,
and reflecting the almost passionate en-
thusiasm she inspired.

" When the curtain drew up and showed
the classic background and pillars of the
Greek Theatre, even then I began to have
a sense of mystery and awe, inspired by
reading the play ; and was prepared, too, by
the passionate introduction of Mendelssohn's
music. But when she came forth, looking a
very Grecian maid, her slow and graceful
walk, the classical marbleness of her features,
her hair gathered to perfection in the Grecian
knot by a fillet, this completed the enchant-
ment. A tinge of deep melancholy pervaded
the whole character, from her first word to
the last, as though she were one doomed. Her
dress, too, the pure white under-robe edged
with gold and the crimson-and-gold embroi-
dered pallium, which she would disperse at
times in graceful attitudes, one time resting
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

it on the back of her head like a mantilla,
another time letting it droop down to her
feet ! And then the sweet smile of resigna-
tion as she stood waiting condemnation ! '*

And what a contrast when at the close of
the night she reappeared as Mrs. Bracegirdle
— the captivating old-time actress, who had
turned the head of the city youth, and at the
suit of his old father proceeded to cure him
of his passion by disgusting him ! I saw
this piece not long since, very fairly done
by Miss Terry ; but with the unapproach-
able Helen, bless you ! it was another thing
altogether. It was spiritualised. No wonder
that there was a young man in the city, an
artist, whom she had more than fascinated,
and who, well inspired, drew several classical
portraits of her in her great character. He
lived till recent times, and outlived her —
the rather wiry, grey-bearded Sir Frederick
Burton, Director of the National Gallery.
He was a superior artist, and his "Blind
Girl at the Holy Well" was a picture that
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excited much admiration. It was engraved
and sold largely. But he was encountered in
his suit by a rival of superior prospects,
whom I saw recently — Sir Theodore Martin,
a man of many gifts, poet, satirist, critic,
biographer of the Prince Consort, and who
has recently told the story of his brilliant
wife's life. He was to carry the day ; he
was a better match. It was said, however,
that after all was settled the swain became
less enthusiastic. There was even a third
candidate later, Sir W. Wilde. It was curious
that these three suitors should have become
knights. But Wilde she would not look at.
Such was this youthful dream.

But how painful a disillusioning was to
await me ! A score of years ago, when
Irving was in the early flush of his triumphs,
he persuaded Lady Martin, as she had then
become, to emerge from her retirement, and
play with him in King Rene's Daughter.
Here was a combination, and there were
great expectations. Now shall we see the
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

fine old school of acting revived, and my
old vision of beauty descend once more to
earth. But what a shock ! An ancient
dame, with a hard and tuneless voice, and
such superannuated methods, almost gro-
tesque ! If this were the old school — but the
truth was, that there had virtually been a sub-
stitution. The old Helen had gone for ever,
long since. This was but an attempted copy.
I will say no more — it was painful to think of.
There was yet another to whom the Castle
was as the breath of his nostrils and its
savour more delicious than incense — to wit,
Sir Bernard Burke, Ulster King of Arms.
How familiar was his little chirruping, cock-
sparrow figure, his bright, round face ; and
with what reverence used he to roll out the
sacred words, " Their Ex-cellen-cies ! " I
believe that he looked on Lord Lieutenants
and their ceremonials as something super-
natural. What a thoroughly good-natured
soul he was ! He was always ready with
some little service. But his grand display
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was when Knights were to be installed and he
went fluttering about in his Tabard or Blue
Mantle of St. Patrick. He sometimes, in
his flutterings, made mistakes. It was to
him, I believe, that the rude, rough Whately
said, on some mistake being made as to
heraldic precedence, " Why, sir, you don't
even understand the foolish rules of your own
foolish business." One of the grandest galas
he had ever to do with was the installation of
his present Majesty as Knight of St. Patrick's,
under the rule of " Th' Abercorns." It was
" a great day for Ireland entirely," and the
pageant was uncommonly well done. Vast
and costly preparations were made which
took up months ; the Cathedral, so lately
restored, was gutted, as it were.

The scene at the moment of Investiture
was most effective. A goodly show of the
Lordly Knights were " whipped up " so as to
form a procession. There had been misgiv-
ings, for the " show " entailed the purchase
of costly robes of blue, well embroidered,
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

which many of these well-encumbered nobles
could not afford. But it was managed.

Another painted butterfly that fluttered
about the Castle was Colonel Doyle, an airy
dandy in a state of wonderful preservation,
mainly owing to his own persistent exertions.
The painting, indeed, was more than figura-
tive. Who can forget the dapper thin glossy
hair, the pink enamelled face, the gay, youth-
ful manner and brisk motion ? There were
endless stories about Doyle and his innocent
absurdities.

Two officers at the club door were dis-
puting with a carman as to his fare, and
his "chaff" quite overpowered them. They
sent in for Doyle, the ancient dandy, who
was supposed to be " a hand " at this
sort of thing. He began on the man, who
at once " countered " him. " What are you
spaking about, old chap ? Sorra a back
tooth you have in your head this moment."
This happy guess quite discomfited the old
buck, who at once retired.
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I was told by Tom Rice-Henn — " little
Tommy Henn " he was always called — of his
meeting Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton, or
Lytton Bulwer, at a dinner party in Dublin.
The great man was coldly reserved, and
took little notice of anybody. The subject
of Oxford Prose Poems being started,
"Tommy," by some chance, recalled a
striking passage in Bulwer's own poem, en-
titled " Fame," I think, and quoted the lines
with much spirit. Bulwer, much flattered,
was enchanted, devoted himself to the reciter
for the rest of the night, and made him
promise to come and see him.

It was wittily said of him that his name
should be translated " Poulet au riz" The
Dublin nicknames were often very superior,
such as that of a stout Mrs. Pope, who was
dubbed " Papal Aggression." Another, whose
name was Louisa, was called " Unlimited
Loo." The two musical brothers with stiff
collars were known as " Collard and Collard."
One lady was " Bet Bouncer " ; another,
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

" Palpitating Poll." A little Lord always

following Mrs. was dubbed " The

Widow's Mite," and so on.

Apropos of these ancient officials, the Mas-
tership of the Horse has been held immovably
and irremovably, I suppose, for some forty
years or so by a veteran retainer, Colonel

F , " the man with the lock," as he used

to be spoken of, from his carriage of a promi-
nent curl which fell over his fine eye. I
believe it does so still, and that its owner still
blooms and flourishes and makes a brave
show, youthful and spry as ever. That lock
did much havoc, causing strife and jealousies.

The Commissioners of the City Police had
for me a certain interest from their very
names and connections. One who held the
office long, long ago, was Colonel Browne,
who was the brother of the once admired
poetess, Felicia Hemans. He was reputed
to be somewhat " close " in his entertainments,
and some of his friends gave him a very
practical hint as to this. He had invited
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them on his birthday, entertaining them with
a very modest display, especially in the way
of wine. Some wag rose to give his health,
and in a speech of simulated enthusiasm called
for " Highland honours ! " Not only were
the glasses " charged," but every one was
flung over their heads and shivered to pieces,
the process being accompanied by a torrent
of affectionate congratulations. The agonies
of the host were terrible. The other Com-
missioner was Colonel Lake of Kars, an
amiable, much-liked man, always in demand
at the innumerable dinners. It seems extra-
ordinary nowadays that such a hero should
not have been a K.C.B. He was given only
this inappropriate post.

The " Levy-day," as it was called, was " a
great time entirely." There was a complacent
illusion abroad that unless you presented your-
self at Court your absence would be acutely
felt and might be remarked upon when you
came to press for advancement. Accordingly
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

it became a sort of duty to " go to the levy ;"
barristers, doctors, merchants, all prepared
themselves. Many people hired their court
suit, dreadfully venerable garments already
worn by scores of people. The charge, I
think, was two guineas " for both occasions,"
i.e., levy and drawing-room. The needy
barrister would often " club " with two or
three others in a cab, and thus the quartette
would wend their way to the Castle. It was
said, indeed, that a pair have been known to
" club " for the hired suit, one going early,
returning, and divesting himself of the gar-
ments in good time for the other to don
them. The ** draw'n-room," however, was
quite a brilliant spectacle, a perfect gala, well
worth seeing and enjoying. For weeks before,
every milliner in the place, the Mannings,
Forrests, e tutti quanti, were hard and fast
at it, working double tides, designing and
perfecting rich and expensive dresses with
trains of inordinate length, Dublin folk
used to know well this Mrs. Manning of
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Grafton Street, a milliner of genius and well
up-to-date. She had a great clientele all over
Ireland and even in London. It always struck
me that she was like Madame Mantalini in
the story and had very much her lofty
ways.

Another modiste, who later became a sort of
rival, was one Mrs. Sims, in favour with her
present Majesty, who at one time patronised
her work. Mrs. Sims used to relate long
histories of her visits to Marlborough House
and of the good-natured affability of her
august employer, with many a " Now, Mrs.
Sims, I want you to — &c." On the morning
after the " draw'n-room " the papers had
columns describing the dresses of the ladies,
as thus : " Mrs. O'Toole, of Castle O'Toole,
Co. Cork, a rich moire white silk bodice and
skirt, with train to match, skirt covered with
the best appliquee lace, feathers, lappets, and
diamonds. Miss O'Toole, same ; Miss Mary
O'Toole (first presentation), same as her
sister." And in another part of the paper :
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

" We understand that Mrs. O'Toole's striking
costume, which excited such admiration at the
recent drawing-room, was not made in London,
but was (exclusive) from the tasteful atelier of

Mrs. , &c."

At these drawing-rooms the Viceroy en-
joyed a privilege, which he was never slow to
act upon, of saluting all the young debutantes,
most of them very pretty young things, fresh
from the country, and greatly agitated at
what was before them. The words " first
presentation " called out loudly was the signal.
Often he had a hundred or so of these inter-
esting operations to perform. But on the
other side of the account the poor fellow had
to pay his tribute to many "undesirables"
in the persons of certain superannuated, rather
plain matrons and spinsters, and to do the
job cheerfully and with an air of enjoyment.
He could set off one against the other.
Some of the spectacles presented were often
astonishing enough, beings of enormous pro-
portions, whose vast necks and u bows," as
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Bob Williams would have called them, were
struggling to escape from the slender fetters
contrived by the milliners. And such costumes
too, blazing crimsons, massive poplins of a
fierce green or yellow, strange, indescribable
compositions furnished by " Cannock and
White," " Todd and Burns," or some other
of what were called " monster shops."

Patrick's Night was always opened with a
procession of the castle "supers," as before
described, all wearing shamrocks, while the
poor Lord Carlisle tried "to do the Irish
business " by exhibiting an extra-enormous
bunch. The " quick-witted natives," as Lord
Morris always called them, are never taken in
by these cheap histrionics, any more than they
are at the music-halls by the cockney who
comes on with a green-tailed coat and caubeen.
The poor tag and rag in their hired court
suits were genuinely excited by the rare spec-
tacle of the " coort," and pressed eagerly
forward to see. But a couple of footmen, walk-
ing in front, pushed them aside, as they would
39

Recollections of Dublin Castle

canaille^ and then the Chamberlain, full of his
dignity, would sternly call out : " Stand back,
please, His Excellency!" I see the whole
now — the band in the gallery (Hanlon's)
striking up "God Save the Queen," the
excited Carlisle making for his throne, and
then the country dance formed to the tune of
" Patrick's Day."

For a number of years Hanlon and his
band were in great vogue, and played, with
wonderful spirit and precision, all the new
German and French valses, &c. He might
send to your party only three or four
" fiddlers," and yet the result was delightful.
Then he would expand into a full orchestra of
thirty or so, the effect of which was equally
good. It was difficult to secure Hanlon
lui-meme without a long engagement, or much
wheedling from a fair employer. How
well I recall one "Patrick's Night" at which
the fascinating little Piccolomini was a guest,
led out as she was by the worthy Carlisle ; and
when Hanlon from the gallery struck up the
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delightful " II Bacio," then for the first time
given as a valse, how it entranced all the
dancers and had to be given over and over
again. What a scene it was ! — a mob of
" feathers, lappets, and diamonds " flying
round in perfect riot with the court-suits or
military uniforms. The pleasant lilt still rings
in my ears.

There was a sort of stage at the top of the
room, a sort of place of honour — always
spoken of by the natives as " The Dawse " or
" Daas." Other people called it dais. " My
woife is on the dawse, she was taken up there
by one of the Edge-du-congs" " His Ex-
f<?/lency " — this emphasis was common, as
also " The Lady Lift'nant " — would seat him-
self on " the throne," enjoying, devouring
the sight, with more than usually opened
mouth. Sometimes he grew languid, and then
his satellites bestirred themselves and brought
special favourites to quicken him up.

A favourite local delusion was that this
" Pathrick's Hall " of the Castle was about
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

the finest and noblest apartment known and
quite unsurpassed in the three kingdoms.
Also that the " Patrick's ball " given on the
Saint's day was a thing to see, and one that
strangers might come from far to admire.
Now, this St. Patrick's Hall, as I prefer to
call it, was really nothing extraordinary,
though a large and spacious room. I re-
member an English friend who went with me
expressing his amazement : " You don't tell
me that this is the great St. Patrick's Hall we
have heard so much of?" The clever Irish,
however, tell each other it is " the finest room
anywhere," and will go on doing so, and so
the thing will be accepted.

At Balls it was often droll to hear the police
on duty shouting for the vehicles — a duty
they would hardly accept in London. It was
" Mrs. Malone's Kyar, come up ! " and the
box on wheels would arrive, duly backing
to the pavement, when a couple of richly-
attired females would get in. Some one
protested that he had actually heard " Mrs.
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Murphy's Inside, come up ! " on which fol-
lowed the progressive stages : " Mrs. Murphy's
Inside is coming up ! " and finally " Mrs.
Murphy's Inside stops the way ! " This, I
think, was one of Bob Williams's tales. I
heard once a policeman call loudly for Mrs.
Village Church's carriage, and presently recog-
nised the lady as Mrs. Villiers Stuart.

This " Patrick's ball " was always sup-
posed to be a highly rollicking affair. Every
one who had been at a levee or drawing-
room was entitled to go, and had to go — and
dance too — in court costume. The Chamber-
lain would issue his edicts in humble imitation
of the greater court — "Ladies to wear feathers,
&c." It may be imagined what a promiscuous
crowd there was.

I have mentioned Hanlon's band, but by-
and-by Hanlon and his methods grew obso-
lete, and he was gradually supplanted by a
musician of extraordinary merit, who rose
from the smallest beginnings. This artist
was named Liddell, a pianoforte slayer of
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

wonderful spirit and dramatic power. He
conceived the idea of forming a small band
of three or four instruments, but of which
the piano should be the inspiring factor, and
speedily, by careful training and perpetual
rehearsals, he worked his little force up into
a most admirable ensemble. His own perform-
ance was truly extraordinary for its " dash "
and brilliancy, and he seemed to have taken for
his model the Vienna Strauss. For he would
every now and again, when the music was
flagging, " rush in," as it were, and, some-
times standing up, stimulate the whole by the
wildest displays. His own somewhat gro-
tesque figure and autocratic methods added
to the effect. Great ladies had to plead
humbly, and even coax him to attend their
parties. He almost took the airs of a Pade-
rewski. By-and-by he enlarged his forces,
and at last formed a large and admirable
orchestra, which he conducted with the same
verve and brilliancy, having a repertoire of
the most delicious valses. It was a treat to
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hear him at the Viceregal balls. In process
of time his fame spread to London, and it
was not an uncommon thing for some dame
of fashion to send for Liddell's Band from
Dublin. Finally he found his way to Buck-
ingham Palace.

There have been a few Viceroys who have
really " done the thing " with splendour and
lavish magnificence. The first in order of
this class was the Earl of Eglinton, who
came with his buxom lady, who had been a
wealthy Irish widow — Mrs. Cockerell. Her
ingots had done much to restore the Thane's
impaired estate. She brought with her the
well-known Andrew Cockerell, a pleasant
fellow and privileged joker, whose jests were
always in circulation, and who was on the
establishment for years. It seems now a
curious thing to have looked on the contriver
of the Tournament which made such a stir ;
yet then it was not so many years before,
perhaps ten. He was the first to introduce
pomp and state and glitter — the finest horses
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

and retainers. He was lavishly hospitable,
spent money liberally, and was in a measure
popular. The mob, however, is always quick-
witted enough to see below these devices, and
can distinguish between what is done for
mere effect and what is natural and un-
affected display.

Perhaps the most showy of the whole series
was that great northern, the Marquis of
Abercorn, later Duke of that name. He was
a perfect Thane — stiff, haughty, with a Cale-
donian " gude conceit of himself," albeit he
and his Clan had been some centuries estab-
lished in Ireland. His lady was a true grande
dame^ and ever comported herself as such.
This great personage set himself out for mag-
nificent state, not with any view to making
a show, but because he considered it all due
to himself and to his high family. He always
bore himself with a haughty but reserved
condescension, which impressed the lieges
wonderfully. There is a pleasant tale told of
two of the natives who had been to the Castle
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and were contrasting the demeanour of Lord
Spencer or Lord Carlisle with that of Lord
Abercorn. " Ah sure, I'm for Abercorn any
day. Now, Carlisle, you see, would receive
you in the most cordial way, and talk and be
delighted to see you ; ask how you were,
and all that. 'But give me Abercorn. Shure
there he stood, without a word, lookin' down
with the utmost contempt on you, just as if
vou were the very dirt of his shoe" A good
shrewd lesson here for those who would
gain popular favour. It was extraordinary
how this hauteur of his pervaded all the
court. There were no freedoms or laisser-
tller. Everything was formal. Only people
of the highest rank were invited. This noble
family was generally spoken of in the City as
" Th' Abercorns " — " Are you goin' to Th'
Abercorns?" &c. The youngest daughter of
the house was the Lady Georgina Hamilton, a
pleasing, pale-looking girl, in constant attend-
ance on her mother. She seemed to be as-
siduously followed by a well-preserved veteran
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

soldier, who was then in command at the
Royal Hospital of the Forces in Ireland,
which generally mustered from thirty to forty
thousand strong. This was Lord Strathnairn,
at the time Sir Hugh Rose — a curious figure,
long and lanky, with a strange, lean, and very
pitiless face that seemed to warrant the stories
that came to us of his Indian severities. To
his officers he was reported to be repelling and
harsh. But with the ladies he was the most
engaging old dandy in the world — juvenile,
too, his voice attuned to low and even sweet
tones. His reception by them, the young
particularly, was ever flattering, and really,
considering his exploits and services, I do not
wonder that he was found attractive. The
gossips soon came to have it that he was
seriously " after " the Lady Georgina, but
those who knew the hero better felt that this
was but a gentle flirtation — a pastime to which
he was much given.

Many a pleasant ball we had in the panelled
halls of the Royal Hospital. These were not
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promiscuous gatherings, and invitations were
not easy to obtain. The hall, crowded with
soldiers and high-bred dames and pretty girls,
flying round in " the mazy," was a sight to
remember. It has seen many occupants from
the time of the old Sir Edward Blakeney, of
the Peninsular and other wars, who was so
feeble in health that his more masterful lady
was supposed to arrange everything, as
Mrs. Proudie did for her bishop. Sir Owen
Burne, who was secretary to Lord Strathnairn,
could, I think, tell much of the later doings.
Another Commander-in-Chief was an old
Peninsular officer who had also figured in
the Crimea and at Waterloo — that worthy
veteran, Sir George Browne. I see him now
with his honest full-moon face looking round
benevolently on every one as he came into
some crowded room. He was very popular
with the ladies. There was also Lord Seaton,
a tall and stately old soldier, thin, stooped,
and delicate-looking ; as well he might be,
for he also had been in the Peninsula and
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

at Waterloo. How curious does it now
seem to be writing down such things — to
have seen and talked with folks who had
been fighting battles nigh a hundred years
ago ! Yet such were common enough then.
I thought little of it when an old major ot
my acquaintance used casually to describe to
me the retreat to Corunna in which he had a
part, and of which he seemed to think the
most heart-breaking incident was, not the
famishing and starvation and bare feet, but
the having to throw whole waggon-loads of
gold and silver pieces down the precipices to
save them from the French !

I know of a good story of Lord Abercorn
which I had from Florence Marryat, then going
about the country with a " monopologue " of
her own, as she called it, and also editing
a magazine. In this latter had appeared a
rather free article on the Abercorn family,
describing how nearly all the daughters had
been fortunate enough to marry into the
most illustrious families, with other par-
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ticulars. Presently the lively Florence,
coming by Dublin, bethought her that the
patronage of the court would be useful,
so she applied for it. But she had forgotten
her article. To her astonishment, she received
a severe letter saying that such patronage
could not be extended, as she had made most
unwarrantable comments on his Excellency's
family : that his daughters had no need to
seek high alliances ; such were only what their
rank and high lineage entitled them to : there
was no wonder in the matter at all. Miss
Marryat showed me this odd paper. It was
evident the high-souled Thane was touched
to the quick. She was very angry, and told
me she was determined to " show them all
up." She would publish the letter with an
account of the whole transaction. Now,
seeing what confusion this would lead to,
and having a little admiration for the noble-
man, who had thus "given himself away,"
1 told her that if she only left it to me I
thought I could manage to smooth it over,

Recollections of Dublin Castle

and after some persuasion she agreed. I hap-
pened to know an official at the court, and
wrote to him, hinting at the expost about to be
made, and how awkward it would be to bring
family matters before the public. I could
assure him that the lady meant no offence ;
that she was much hurt at the rebuke, and that
it might be as well to soothe her feelings by
letting her have the usual patronage for her
" show." The reply came — an almost joyful
letter, full of thanks and gratitude, admitting
that what I had said was truly reasonable,
and that all should be done as I suggested.
And so it was done, and the show came off
with success. I have always rather prided
myself on this transaction as a very credit-
able little bit of diplomacy, which however
was not so unselfish as might be supposed.

It was characteristic of the stately Abercorn
that when a number of professional waiters
were engaged for some of his great balls he
went to the expense of dressing them all
up in tights and black silk stockings, shoe-
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buckles, &c., so as to range with his own
menials. This was doing the thing en grand
seigneur. On his second Viceroyalty he came
as Duke of Abercorn, being the only holder
of the office who has secured this showy
guerdon for his services.

Lord Wodehouse — the Lord Kimberley
who has just died — who had been the governor
of colony, one of the smaller officials of the
Government, had been sent over to learn the
business and practise for official work. He had
but little fortune, and had the credit — perhaps
unreasonably — of economising his emolu-
ments, and of trying to save what he could
out of the £20,000 a year or so allowed.
There have been penurious governors, notably

the Earl of B , who was said to have

sent a donation at Christmas of a single
"shin-bone of beef" to the Mendicity Insti-
tution. This was never forgotten, and at
one of his processions an actual shin-bone
of beef was carried solemnly before him
at the end of a long pole ! This charity
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

was one of the eccentricities of the city.
I don't know what it meant exactly, or what
its purpose was, but it was significant and
even natural to have such an institution
officially recognising beggary in a country
where most people beg.

There were charity sermons galore. I
remember at the end of the sermon there
was always a sort of race between the
congregation, shuffling away to escape con-
tribution, and the collectors, gentlemen
selected by way of honour, and who, fur-
nished with willow-pattern plates, hastily
took up their posts at the door to intercept
those trying to get away. In return for the
distinction they were expected to deposit
a one-pound note at the least upon their
plates. For the benefit of the poor " sick
and indigent room keepers" there was
always (another oddity) a fancy dress ball
at the Rotunda.

Another institution that was rife in the
city was that of bazaars on a gigantic scale
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for the Society of St. Vincent de Paul
and similar admirable charities. Enormous
sums were taken ; every device, whether
legal or illegal it did not matter, was
resorted to to raise money. Lotteries on a
vast scale, with jaunting cars, pictures, sums
of money, as prizes, were organised, and
books of tickets with handsome bonuses
for the sellers were sent away in every
direction. In vain, at various periods, the
legal authorities took up the matter, and
issued threatening warnings, as to prosecu-
tion ; no one paid the least attention, and
the thing went on as before.

The Spencer regime seemed to me rather
colourless, as was also that of Lord Cowper.
At the time Lady Cowper was in her prime
and much admired. The papers used to
speak of "Spencer's Fairy Queen." Under
their rule there were unhappily agitated
times. I remember one special day in Dublin,
which indeed was quite a lurid one, as I
look back. Yet it was a gala — the entrance
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

of the Home Rule Lord-Lieutenant, Lord
Spencer, in a sort of triumph, after the
cashiering of the sturdy Forster and the
weak but worthy Lord Cowper. It also
brought the luckless Lord Frederick Caven-
dish. The cortege had been a grand one, all
the windows were filled, and some of us noted
a carriage and ponies flying past, driven by
the sister of one of the unfortunate pair
who were to take their last walk that
evening. That walk to the park had ever
been a favourite with me ; I used to go along
the quays, and pursue the long fair avenue
that led to the Under-Secretary's lodge.
But for the festivity I should have taken it
that day as usual, and perhaps have had
a share of some sort in the event. It was
a strange thing that nothing was known
of the murders that night, though one of
our family, who came in late from a dinner
party, said that there was a rumour that some-
thing awful ihad occurred in the park : while
others said a great person had been murdered.
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We all laughed at this as an exaggeration.
But when I went out the next morning the
newspapers — an unusual thing, it being
Sunday — were being cried in the streets :
" Murder of Mr. Burke and Lord Frederick
Cavendish ! "

The dynasty that came to make a real
show was that of the Duke of Marlborough,
and it must be said there was a good deal
of solid grandeur displayed. The name of
Blenheim and Churchill was something to
conjure with. Loving such associations, I
always find myself looking on people of this
stamp with extraordinary interest. On their
staff, as secretary, was the gifted Lord
Randolph Churchill, then scarcely thought
of except as a clever, promising young
man. The Duchess was a striking-looking,
" monumental " lady, and it was given
out, as a claim to popularity, that she
was " a born Irishwoman." She was,
in fact, one of the Londonderry s — i.e., of
the Stewart Clan. In her time was the
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" great disthress," a truly grand time for the
patriots and fussy people generally. There
was " the Duchess of Marlborough Fund,"
to which money came streaming in from all
parts of the world ; and as it wouldn't do to
have nothing but " the dirty Saxon money
goin' " there was the rival Mansion House
Fund. No one can conceive the general fun
and excitement, there being a large committee
of ladies and gentlemen sitting at the Castle,
the pleasant Lord Randolph acting as secre-
tary, his mother in the chair. The difficulty
was to find objects of charity, and every one
was grateful when some distressful district was
discovered or when some local priest applied.
The money and goods were poured out as
water.

The most rollicking incident connected
with the Relief Fund was the happy sug-
gestion of getting up an opera for the benefit
of the Relief Fund. The piece selected was
H.M.S. Pinafore, then in the height of its
success, and it was determined that it should
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be played in St. Patrick's Hall. The parts
were cast : Sir Joseph Porter to the facetious
Captain M'Almont ; the Captain, the present
Sir W. Barrington ; the " bum-boat " lady,

Mrs. Langley ; and the heroine, Miss G

F , one of the musical sisters of Merrion

Street. There were few more popular or
more capable women in the place than their
mother. She had an extraordinary spirit
and a power of carrying out whatever she
had set her mind upon. All who knew her
she converted into friends, I believe, for the
reason that they saw how good-naturedly
she was inclined, and how able she was to
carry out whatever she professed to do. The
firm of "Able and Willing" will always
find friends. Even hollow-hearted fashion-
able dames had a sincere liking for her.
Those of the lower and working classes
would, I fancy, have done anything for
her. In addition, she had much good
sense and sound judgment. Her prime
maxim, which she particularly applied to
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

Dublin society, was that good society was
to be gained with less trouble than it
takes to secure bad, and that " nice " folk
are just as accessible as those of the lower
class.

But the palmy days of this vice-regal
method of reigning were reached when that
singular being, Lord Carlisle — erst known as
a respectable politician — was sent to preside
over the country. Then the fun really
began. No satrap could be more determined
to amuse himself and make of life a jest.
Had a red fez been clapped upon his head,
and a chibook put into his hand, he would
have seemed a jovial Turk.

And, to begin with, what an extraordinary
face it was ! — rubicund cheeks, an enormous
mouth, perpetually kept open, and opening yet
wider as his interest in what he was looking at
increased — his mode of expressing enjoyment
— the lower lip spreading out like that of a
jug, with thick white hair hanging over his
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forehead, with usually a blue coat to set all
off — surely here was an extraordinary portrait.
Add to this a strange lack-lustre stare, which
became almost " oafish " as he grew absorbed,
and a curious voice that seemed at times to
be " gargling." Such was the presumed ruler
of Dublin, at least ; of course, in the govern-
ment of the country generally he was not
allowed to participate. He was sent chiefly
to amuse or tickle the groundlings. He had
conceived the idea of the stage Irishman — as
of a light-hearted race, ready to be soothed
in the most elementary fashion. He fancied
they were the people of Harry Lorrequer and
Charles O'Malley. Never shall I forget
some of his earliest appearances in " the Castle
yard," when on the Queen's birthday, according
to regular tradition, the guard was relieved
with grand solemnities — immense crowds,
chieflyof ragamuffins from " the Liberties,"
a sort of Irish Seven Dials — and who, always
interested in the " sojers," crowded into the
Castle yard. Presently the " Lord Liftinint "
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

would make his appearance on the balcony,
ostentatiously wearing an immense bunch of
shamrock and surrounded by his " coort."

As the band played Irish airs specially
designed and ordered to humour the natives —
" Patrick's Day " over and over again — some
ragged fellows, going out into the middle, set
up a sort of jig to the music, more by way of
burlesque than anything else. Lord Carlisle,
stooping over the balcony, his mouth opening
wider and wider with enjoyment, encouraged
these ragamuffins with gesture and voice. It
seemed such a thoroughly Irish scene. Then
he rushed into the room beyond and re-
appeared laden with cakes, bread, &c., which
he actually threw down to the mob — amid the
yells and shouts of the rest, who struggled
and fought for the morsels. This humiliating
scene went on for a long time. All in
authority really believed that the way to
treat the lower Irish was to approach them
much as Captain Cook xiid the savages, with
glass beads, &c.

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Few of us, save old people, have seen
Listen the actor, but the likeness of Lord
Carlisle was recognised at once and was
often insisted on. So too was repeated the
player's humorous complaint : " This fellow
will take the bread out of my mouth." It
would be difficult to give an idea of his
antics. He had all the caprices and parti-
alities of the Commander of the Faithful,
and his attendants were for ever on the
look out to bring him some attraction who
might be established as favourite. Any
one that suggested a new entertainment —
something novel or exciting — became his friend
on the spot. Two little simple but interest-
ing girls may have arrived from the country —
one singing, one playing the violin — say,
daughters of a country doctor. These a lucky
aide-de-camp heard of — or heard performing.
The astonished father and his treasures were
dragged off to court and installed as favour-
ites. Concerts were got up for them. The
Viceroy was seen seated before the fair
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

violinist, his mouth distended and cavernous,
as if to swallow her, fiddle and all — an
amazing spectacle. " See him now fly-catch-
ing," once said a dutiful member of his staff.

Merrion Square, or " Muryon," as it is
pronounced, is a fine square, covering an im-
mense area and surrounded by large, "spee-
cious" mansions. Some of these are really
noble and vast in their staircases and reception
rooms. To live here was evidence, ostensibly
at least, of prosperity. Hence it used to be
dotted here and there with doctors' residences,
and these, curious to say, on one side only —
the physicians' side or the sunny one, where
I think one, Sir H. Marsh's, boasted a fine
vine. Merrion Square is now a perfect Harley
Street for its number of doctors.

There was a house just at the corner of
this square, and facing the Leinster Lawn,
which was completely overgrown from kitchen
to garret with the most luxuriant Virginian
creeper that could be seen. The owner had
been cultivating and encouraging it for some
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thirty years. It had, however, its drawback,
for it had become a perfect aviary. Hundreds
of sparrows had established themselves in its
foliage, and the twitterings and general din
had become a serious annoyance. Many
councils were held, and it was finally deter-
mined to cut the tree down. But many were
the warnings from the wise old women of
both sexes. It was an unlucky thing to do —
it is invariably so. The sparrows, when injured
or driven away, could revenge themselves ; for
their enemy was sure to be driven away him-
self. One might smile at these things, as the
owner did. And so, on the fateful day, the
gardeners came with axes, ladders, &c. The
little sparrows were all away foraging, but
what a surprise greeted them when they
returned : their leafy abode clean gone, and a
brick wall greeting them! The scene that
followed was described to me : the evicted
creatures gathered in vast crowds on the bal-
conies, uttering torrents of angry reproaches,
screams, twitters, addressed to those they
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

saw looking out at them. After long dally-
ing they gradually dispersed ; I suppose, to
look for other quarters.

Now for the sequel. The owner, who had
been, as I said, an old inhabitant of the city,
went away in the summer with the family to
some of the English baths, as one member
was in delicate health. They were to return
after a course of the waters ; but it was decreed
by the doctors that it would be essential to go
for the winter to some mild watering-place.
This was done. After the winter another
place was ordered, and so began a course of
wanderings in search of health or relief.
These continued for some twelve or fourteen
years ; during which time the patient and the
head of the family had passed away. The
remaining member did not care to return.
The house was disposed of; and thus the
sparrow warning came true. Of course, this
was the idlest superstition ; but I know the
family always thought uneasily of the business.

There was an interesting figure at the
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court in Lord Carlisle's day, whose appear-
ance roused some romantic associations. This
was Lady Guy Campbell, who was always
spoken of as " Pamela's daughter " — the
Pamela who was supposed to be Madame de
Genlis' child, and who was married to the ill-
fated Lord Edward FitzGerald. Here was a
curious link with the past and with the dark
days of the Rebellion. Lady Guy was a
pleasant-looking, good-humoured lady. Her
son was long about the person of his
Majesty.

Among the many " favourites " unearthed
for the delectation of " his Ex." was a
young and piquant little Italian widow who
had been Prima Donna dssoluta at some small
Italian town, and had come to settle in
Dublin. She was a bright, lively creature,
and was universally received on her own

merits. The indefatigable C soon marked

her down, and she was presently installed

prime favourite at the court, her pretty

broken English and lively speeches being

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Recollections of Dublin Castle

quite irresistible. Her voice was really good,
albeit shrill, and she could perform wonder-
fully dashing, but ear-piercing, vocal feats.
Never was the Gargantuan mouth opened so
wide as during these exercises, when he would
draw over his chair in front of the piano and
gaze as if about to devour her slight self,
notes and all. She always treated him sans
ceremonie, and with a sort of pertness that
delighted. As when he said, " Now, my dear

Mrs. , when are you going to give me a

night ? " " How dare, sir, of you to propose
such a thing ! " This gave huge enjoyment.
There was nothing but concerts and recitals,
in which the fair prima donna figured largely.
Another well-established court favourite,

and deservedly so, was Mrs. E. G , a

well-known dame and a lady of many gifts,
the most extraordinary of which was a rather
unusual sort of organ — that is, an almost
male tenor voice, which she had cultivated
and developed with extraordinary taste and
success. It was often amusing to watch the
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very natural and unfeigned astonishment of
the newly-arrived stranger, who was prepared
for a performance of the usual kind by many
a "Now you'll hear something like singing!"
as the lady, standing out, gave forth from her
ample throat and chest those unexpected and
charnel-house tones. Sometimes he would
be inclined to smile at the very oddity of the
tones ; but seeing from the faces and applause
of the court party that it was the thing to
admire, he came gradually to be enchanted.

When Lord Carlisle arrived first, it was
found that he had brought with him as his
chaplain one of the handsomest young parsons
that ever appeared on the local stage. An
exquisitely cut face, lovely curling brown
hair and beard, faultlessly trimmed : young,
attractive, shrewd, ready of speech, lively —

such was the Reverend Walter C . He

would have speedily won every girl's heart in
the place, but for that one indefinable yet all-
important failing — lack of sympathy — and an
incurable cynicism. He had besides a most
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

disdainful and almost contemptuous bearing
to everything that was native, and never
ceased ridiculing or mimicking the accent and
absurdities and blunders of Mrs. Toole or
Mrs. Murphy. His extraordinary cleverness
gave point to these exhibitions. Again, he
was perpetually talking of himself. Yet, all
the time he was friendly to those he liked, and
did many a good-natured thing for those he
considered genuine people.

The handsome chaplain did not let his
office interfere with his engagements, and
used to be seen at the balls and other enjoy-
ments of the court, to the displeasure of all
serious persons — who were quite Calvinistic
in their strictness. He, however, took little
heed. The ladies smiled on and encouraged
him. Presently he found all such restraint
too inconvenient, and formally " disfrocked "
himself " under the Act," I believe, and thus
became happily rid of his gown and bands.
He changed himself into "Assistant Private
Secretary." The white tie was indeed any-
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thing but becoming to his classical features.
He was a great favourite with " his Ex.," as
he always called his chief — both were York-
shiremen, pur sang — and him he speedily
held in the hollow of his hand, and could
adroitly persuade or mould to do anything
that he wished. The good-natured chief
may indeed have been somewhat in awe of
his sarcastic tongue and powers of mimicry.
And what a clever fellow he was ! He had
the art of making himself a personage
wherever he went, and of taking one of the
forward places. When any distinguished
visitors arrived from England, he was the
one who became most intimate with them, as
a " regular London man." It was amusing
indeed how this superior " London tone " was
assumed by this one particular set, as though
they were all in temporary banishment at
some unhealthy island, or quartered, as it
were, in some village. I recall one of them
at a performance at the grand old Theatre
Royal when Sothern was performing his David

Recollections of Dublin Castle

Garricky and how he found fault with two of
the inferior characters. Then sadly: "And
yet a fortnight ago they were perfection."
" But they were not here then ? " said some
one. " / was speaking of London" replied
the other, slowly and with a cold pity.
Neither was there the least scruple as to
abusing contemptuously all things Irish in
presence of, and to, the Irish ladies and
gentlemen. Everything was " so Irish," " so
thoroughly Irish." " What could you ex-
pect in this wretched place ? " The natives,
I am bound to say, particularly the ladies,
joined heartily in the depreciation, as though
it did not affect them — " for you know,

Mr. C , we are most of us, that is, all of

us of th' upper classes, half English, you
know." " No doubt," the impudent fellow
would reply, with due gravity ; " everybody
can see that." But the haughty country dames
of good names and families did sincerely
regard themselves as of the English gar-
rison, and looked disdainfully on the herd of
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" Romanists " among whom they were com-
pelled to live. The most " superior " of all
were the English ladies who had married
Irishmen, and whose tone of having sacrificed
themselves and of knowing nothing about the
people — how could they be expected to know
or learn anything about them ? — was quite
amusing. The poor husbands were made to
feel the honour that had been done them.

There was a tall hussar on the Viceroy's
staff, with a good baritone voice and a
great taste for music, whom every lady
was only too eager to " accompany " — on the
piano, at the least. As he was a dark-eyed
handsome fellow, the ex-chaplain did not at
all relish his success, particularly as he was
a sort of pet of the deputy sovereign's.
The tone he took with him was that of
constant persiflage and ridicule, particularly
in the presence of the admiring ladies. He
would rather delight in exhibiting his own
superior manner at his expense. Thus at
one of these " Castle Concerts " he came
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

up. " Come, P ," he said, " you are to

show off next ; the ladies will be delighted
to hear you sing ' She shines before me like
a star.' Come along at once." The other
refused rather peevishly, and seemed to resent
this dictatorial treatment. " What ! You
won't leave the fair ? Fie ! fie ! Now,
you'd better — Come. Take my advice, for

you'll have to come." As P declined

to be ordered off in this fashion, his tor-
mentor went away, but presently returned
with smiling triumph. " There, I told you
you'd have to come. His Ex. has sent for
you, and you are to sing * She shines before
me.' Come, now" — in a soothing way —
" don't be a bold child any more, or we'll
have to send you to bed." And so, smiling
at the ladies, he led off his victim fuming
and raging.

C loved to be thought intellectual —

to be the friend of literary men. He had a

wonderful memory, and thought nothing of

standing up on the rug to recite — which he did

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with a fervour and passion that he by no
means felt. His favourite piece was Tenny-
son's " Northern Farmer," which he gave
with admirable effect — the dialect was, of
course, familiar to him as a Yorkshireman —
and Poe's "The Raven." He certainly
threw himself into both pieces. " The Raven "
was particularly dramatic. Once John Forster,
Boz's friend, was dining with us — " the
redoubtable critic from London" — and
our hero was induced to stand up and
perform. He did his best, Forster listen-
ing with a tolerant and encouraging smile
and saying " it was very good indeed." The
performer was but half pleased with this
approval ; he was accustomed to tumultuous
praise.

Our friend's general topic in all his talk —
and he was incessantly talking — was himself ",
le mot. I must say he did not make this
fatiguing : for he set it out with great variety
and cleverness and the introduction of lively
comment, &c. As he talked, his favourite
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

pose was the leaning his elbow on the chimney
piece in a d'Orsay attitude. Once he was
introduced into a novel, drawn to the very
life in this especially favourite attitude, a
most graceful pose, the while discoursing, and
ever and anon taking glimpses of himself.
He taxed the author with having introduced
him and added naively, " you must have
meant me, because that is my constant atti-
tude." "And of a good many others too,"
said the other, laughing. A compliment or

two placated C : and I fancy he rather

thought it was a feather in his cap.

At one time he was quite engrossed with a
rather feeble play of Feuillet's, called Maxime
— extracts from which he read out to select
friends and to great applause. He then
translated it, and was persuaded by the fair
to have it printed for their better enjoyment
of it ; and this also he read aloud. Then
followed what always seemed to me one of
the most comical illustrations of self-delusion
I have seen. What with the extracts and the
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reading of the whole, the criticisms and the
raptures and applause, he came at last to
believe — genuinely too — that he had written
the piece! Once a young lady timorously
suggested that she thought such an expression
a little unnatural in the character. " Why,"
said he, with a scornful glance, " can't you see
that nothing else will suit the situation ?
Don't you see how / led up to it in the pre-
ceding scene — paved the way, by making
Maxime say, &c. I prepared for it all." This
was droll enough.

C was a ready and a skilful actor,

though hardly yet equipped to exhibit himself
on the public boards. He was great, however,
at the country houses in amateur theatricals.
There were other houses and other readings —
all to a perfect clamour of applications — " Oh

dear, Mr. C , wont you act it ? " said the

fair hypocrites ; " you must act, for you are
really Maxime himself! Bring it out at the
Theatre Royal, and we shall all take tickets and
go." Beguiled by these frail promises, the
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

rash C not only printed his translation,

fancying that every one would buy, but
actually took the Theatre Royal, engaged
actors, and brought out the play — his play, or
" my piece," as he always called it. By the
mere right of performance, Feuillet's name
was absorbed into his. It proved a costly
mistake. On that large arena and huge stage
the too cynical tones of our super-refined
performer, with his would-be delicate strokes
of " business " — very telling in a room —
faded into nothing. Our grand actor, who
could teach all the world, showed forth as a
rather weakish amateur. Friends were per-
force obliged to muster in the boxes. " His
Ex." was in his own box with his staff, who
came to chuckle over the conceited fellow's
failure. But who could compel the pit and
galleries to attend? They cared nothing for the

elegant Walter C ,Esq. , who had not even

A.D.C. after his name. I do not know how
he contrived to pay the bill — or bills, for
there was to be a second, yea, a third night,

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which in the lightness of his heart he had
contracted for.

We had our " command nights " when
" his Exctf/lency " went in state, to the delight
of the galleries. The Viceregal box was the
object of perpetual intrigue, every would-be
fashionable scheming, through some hanger-
on of the court, to obtain it for a night when
it was not in use. " Who's that in the

Viceregal box ? Why, it's the s ! " This

was thought a delightful thing to have said of
one, and added to the enjoyment of occu-
pation. In anticipation they could, for days
before, tell their friends, " We have got the
Viceregal box for to-night !"

Lord Carlisle had a fashion on these
command nights of putting his great white
head out of the box and staring up at the
galleries to watch their buffooneries- There
used to be screams of delight at this sign of
interest. One fellow would call out, "Aisy,
boys ; what a pity he has no childer." And
another, "Ah ! shure he's done his best."
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

On this hint he would abruptly withdraw his
head. Among the higher classes there was a
good deal of fun on this score, especially in
connection with his motto, |C Volo, non
valeo."

C gave other exhibitions of himself

much more favourable. In Still Waters Run
Deep, got up by Lady Emily Peel at " The
Lodge," he was excellent. It was a comic
note of our society that these curt titles were
presumed to be understanded of everybody.
" The Lodge" was the Chief Secretary's Lodge
in the park ; and there was also the Viceregal
Lodge. There was " Patrick's " (which de-
noted St. Patrick's Cathedral), " Christ's "
(Christ Church Cathedral), Stephen's Green
for St. Stephen's. There was something of
a mental vulgarity in all this. At the Lodge,
then, the fair Lady Emily, of whose spouse
— then Chief Secretary — the oddest tales
were told, got up some plays, and under
C 's tutelage performed very well indeed.

There was yet another play at a place called
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Woodlands, which was in the far-off suburbs
— a drive, I suppose, of seven or eight miles,
in most cases by "job carriage," from the
quaintly-named " Gerty and Rorke's," who
were, however, more distinguished for catering
for funerals. No Catholic that respected his
own memory could escape being attended by
" Gerty and Rorke " : while the correct Pro-
testant was looked after by " Waller and
Begg." By either of these firms you might
depend on the thing being done well. The
morning papers always took care to announce
that the " arrangements " were carried out by
the firms in question. Thus every one came
to feel a sort of comfort in the notion of
being buried. Though your friends and
acquaintances might not attend you very
assiduously in your lifetime, you could rely
on their appearing — in an immense procession
— behind you on this final morning.

En passant, I may say that in no city in the
world do the local horses attend funerals to
such a vast extent. I believe the animals could
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

find their way to the different cemeteries —
Mount Jerome and Glasnevin — in the dark
almost. I suppose there is not a jobbed
horse that does not visit these places once or
twice in the day at the least. For in Dublin it
is to the credit, not, alas, of the deceased,
but of his surviving acquaintances, that they
should be drawn in state after his coffin to
the grave, and make a respectable show in
the long line. Some one of the genteel
community is thus honoured almost every
morning. A lively lady — an Englishwoman,
herself living in Dublin — declared to me that
she was obliged to keep a special pair of
horses solely for the purpose of attending
funerals ! These funeral horses have ragged
white mops fixed on their heads, which
have an odd effect, to say nothing of these
being usually very old and dirty. Every
one, coachmen and all, wore the white scarf,
cut liberally of course, and supposed to have
the exact " makins of a shirt." There were
also gloves. As a child I recall weddings
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at which there were plates of white kid
gloves !

I remember the very first photographic
establishment in Dublin, and the wonder
and astonishment it caused. It was a little
wooden structure set up on the top of the
porch of the Rotunda, and was known as
the Daguerreotype Studio. The image was
taken on a silver plate, which had to be held
in a peculiar light to see the effect. I lately
found one of these early attempts, nearly
faded out ; they were very dear in price,
too, and there was only one copy, " negatives"
being then unknown.

There used to be a curious ceremonial, on
the Sovereign's birthday, I think, when half
a regiment would be drawn up round the
equestrian statue of King William the Third
on College Green. At a signal the soldiers
fired three volleys, to the general confusion
of the numerous cars and carriages drawn
up to witness the scene. This was one of
the last tokens of the old ascendency. It
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is astonishing, considering the violence of
party spirit, that this memorial has been
allowed to keep its place. O'Connell,
indeed, during his mayoralty, insisted on its
being repaired and furbished up, and, it was
said, had it decorated in green and gold —
his own livery. There was an immense sen-
sation, which I recall perfectly, when one
morning news spread through the city that
the King William had been blown up. The
legs and other portions of the body were
found in different quarters of the city.
They were reverently collected and put
together again. In this connection a pleasant
hoax was played off on Sir Philip Crampton,
the Surgeon-General, who betimes, and before
the news reached him, received an urgent
message to come at once and attend a
"gentleman who had fallen from his horse
and broken his legs"

There are two things which every Dublin
— indeed, every Irish — person holds as of
faith to be finer than anything of the kind
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in the United Kingdom : these are — first,
the Punchestown Races ; and second, the
" Harse " Show, as it is pronounced. " Ah,
where'd ye see the likes of racin' like Punch-
estown ? And as for the Harse Show — ah,
don't tell me, all the wurrald can't touch it ! "
Now, as the candid friend, I own these insti-
tutions are really most excellent, but how
such a claim should be set up of surpassing
anything in the kingdom seems incom-
prehensible. We all live in a realm of
delusions, and refuse to open our eyes.
This Punchestown racing is really a very
" moderate " affair as compared with Liver-
pool or others of the great steeplechases.
But the delusion in the case of ' ' the Harse
Show " is clearly proved by the wonder and
the delight at the exhibition of u leppin' "
which the populace, as I really fancy, believes
can only be achieved " in style " by Irishmen
on Irish horses and on Irish ground. Now,
this jumping of hurdles and fences and
brooks is a common feature at most horse
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

shows, at the Agricultural Hall notably,
and very well done it is. However, we tell
each other it is the finest thing in the worrld,
and that people come from all parts of the
worrld to see it. But Felices errore suo.

Oh ! the corrupting influence of this so-
called " court " — the cringing, abject, rever-
ential tone it engenders in the souls of those
who were before independent — it spreads over
them like a cankering rust. It was at one of
these triumphant Horse Shows that I found
myself beside a popular man whom I had
not seen for a long time, and who greeted me
heartily. He had smooth manners, and was said
to be welcomed in august circles. I had known
him in a previous state in a rather lower
station working at his duties. I now learned
that he had come to bask in the beneficent
Viceregal light, that he had been " taken up "
as it were — bidden to dine (mark you this !)
at the state dinners — quite a different thing
from the common hoi polloi dinners. But
now I was really confounded at the change in
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him. After his first pseudo-affectionate in-
quiries ^ as to my doings, T noticed that his
eyes were wandering away very uneasily and
even piteously. "The Cadogans are late,"
he said at last. "Who?" I asked. "Oh,
the Cadogans " (he gave it the full
emphasis so common now, the Ca^/^gans). I
could not see how that much affected either
of us. I then asked affectionately after past
friends : but his thoughts were still straying
away :

" He heard me, but he heeded not,
His heart was far away."

His eyes rested wistfully on the entrance
gate, and he repeated again, "The CaDUGgans
are very late. Oh," with a cry of rapture,
u here they are ! " and he rose up and bent
forward as if to attract attention, and, as the
equipages swept past, took off his hat and

* There is a common formula in these things : " Oh,
you've given us up — gone to live in London — well,
you're right ; this is a one-horse place ; " or else, " So
nothing'll do you but London — no less — we poor Irish
aren't good enough," etc.

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waved it. Most amazing this, I thought.
Here was clearly the lues vice-regalia. Alas !
I tried to talk to the unhappy man, but it was
of no use. He was absorbed in the Vice-
regal glamour. Craning his neck forward, he
would exclaim : " D'ye see him now ? — that's

Lord he is talking to." " How nice ! "

was all I could say. I wish I could give an
idea of the rapturous adoration with which
the unhappy man followed every movement
that went on in what was called "the Vice-
regal box."

When he had to give up his office by
change of Government, poor Lord Carlisle
was in despair. It was said he moped at home,
missing his ragamuffins and shamrock. His joy,
we supposed, must have been excessive when
the turn of the wheel brought him back once
more. But it was noticed that he was sadly
changed. There was a vacancy in his eyes,
a failure of memory, and other symptoms.
After some time his case became serious. It
was settled that he should go away for change
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and rest. Alas ! the pleasant jovial old fellow
never returned, and we never saw him again.
His malady — it was softening of the brain —
was making vast strides, so that he was scarcely
conscious of where he was. With him fell the

brilliant C , who had no friends to keep

him there ; plenty, rather, who rejoiced that he
was going. He was in despair ; he had
grown accustomed to the place, and had
actually begun to believe in and to like it. I
recall him in London telling a party of an
amusing scene at " the Lodge," in which
"the Lodge " was referred to over and over
again ; some one at last asked : u Where on
earth was all this ? What lodge ? " I cannot
forget his look, as he scornfully replied :
" Where ? Why, at the Viceregal Lodge, of
course f " Poor fellow, he assumed that all
the world knew of and were interested in the
Lord Lieutenant and his lodge. The in-
quirer might have further asked : " What

Viceregal Lodge ? " C fancied there

was but one in the world.
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There was something pathetic in the
gradual extinction of this pleasant being, who
had enjoyed himself so heartily in his office.
The scene of his farewell at Kingstown was
described to us by his faithful henchman,

C . It was a beautiful summer's evening,

and a large party of his personal friends sur-
rounded him on the pier. He did not speak.
It was clear, indeed, that his fatal malady was
then strong on him. At last, said Sir George
Browne, " Now, Sir, you had better go. We
are only troubling you : so good-bye, sir, and
God bless you ! " The veteran then quite
broke down. All the time Lord Carlisle kept
the same fixed, stony look, turning his eyes
from one to the other, and not uttering a
word. He then went on board, walking
slowly to the end of the vessel. As she moved
away he took his hat off and held it in his
hand, while the light of a gorgeous sunset
streamed full upon those familiar grey locks.
As the distance grew wider they could still
see his curious figure, staring with a sort
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of devouring gaze. He was thinking, no
doubt, that this was his last look at the
pleasant land where he had had such a high
old time — of " the Castle," and its balls and
concerts and lively ladies — from whence he
was hurrying to the final stage, that came
speedily.

When he lost his friend and patron, C

was in a parlous way, and had nothing to
turn to. But being an adroit fellow, he
speedily fell upon his legs again, marrying
the daughter of a very wealthy man. When
I next saw him he was established in Park
Lane, " no less," as some of his Irish friends
would have said, in that mansion where the
balconies rest upon four nymphs or Caryatides.
There he did not forget his old friends, and
I was often bidden to his hospitable table,
where I was sure to meet many agreeable
people. His thoughts were ever straying
back to the old pleasant days and to Castle
legends, which he would retail to politely
listening but incurious friends. He died some
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years back, I am afraid from brain affection,
and one will always think of this curious and
brilliant character with interest and pleasure.
Poor C !

Dublin was in those days a city of pretty
girls— gay, bright things, with laughing eyes,
and free and easy ways. We had not then
reached the stage of the grenadier type and
of massive Venuses. These were mostly
petites; many were good-looking; and we had
a good many regular official beauties. Who
will forget the three handsome O's — Miss
O'K., Miss O'R., and the resplendent Rose
O'H.!

And what dancing there was, and what
dancers we were ! We have heard of " the
excuse for a glass," but everything here was
made an excuse for a dance. I have been at
half a dozen of a night. " Carpet dances,"
always detestable things, were accepted gladly
in lieu of nothing else. Then Turkey
and other carpets of the kind were little
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known. Carpets were nailed tightly down,
and gave out clouds of hot dust under the
brushing feet. Once at a militia ball in the
country — to which I had gone down, full
forty miles away — a person of the place,
whom I did not know, came up and said
pleadingly : "Won't you dance? Ah ! Do!
I know some of the nicest girls in the world,
and will introduce you." When I declined,
he returned, somewhat ruefully, to his three
sisters — Ariadnes neglected ! And in what
stuffy little houses we would have these carpet
dances, squeezing up a narrow stair in which
there was room only for a peculiarly un-
pleasant lodging-house smell.

At most dances was to be seen a curious
apparition — a lank, elderly being, with grizzled
hair and of a grotesque type, who had a
perfect mania for dancing. In spite of his
age, he flew round in the valse with mar-
vellous energy and agility, and, odd to say,
found plenty of the young girls to dance with.
But, as a lively colonel's wife used to say, as if
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it explained a world of things, " Anything in
trousers, my dear, anything in trousers ! "
This singular being was known as " the
Dancing Dervish."

I recall paying a visit, in company with my

friend Lord A , to the old Duke of

Leinster, great-grandfather of the present
Duke (Eheufugaces /), at his beautiful seat at
Carton, Maynooth. He was a bald, round-
headed, venerable-looking old man, very fond
of music, and a great patron of Ella's concerts.
He was attended by his brother-in-law, Sir F.
or Mr. Stanhope, I forget which, a sort of
parchment-cheeked, slippered being. I re-
member hearing from an old friend, a man
of many stories, that at some ball he saw this
gentleman " stand up " with Lady Morgan
to perform a jig. They did it with extra-
dinary spirit, and found it impossible to tire
each other down. At the close, in a weary
fashion, Stanhope said to the crowd, " Truly,
it's a great pity you Irish won't dance your
own jigs," as though the thing had to be done
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by some one, who would sacrifice himself to
set an example. But there was a good deal
below this speech. It is a pity that the Irish
" won't dance their own jigs."

The stout matrons who gave the "carpet-
dances " had but the most elementary notions,
and thought nothing of entrapping unthinking
officers into their stuffy dens. It was a great
point to have th' officers at your party. But
you need not know th' officers. Some boldly
sent invitations en bloc to the colonel. We may
imagine the astonishment of the soldiers on
finding themselves in some mean Baggot Street
shanty, greeted with more than maternal
heartiness by the hostess, who had never seen
them before: " Deloighted to see you, captain.
Now, I'll find you a noice partner, captain. /'//
introjuice you." Then, confidentially, "What's
your name?" No wonder these gentry made
open sport of the entertainment, all but laugh-
ing in the face of their hosts. At one of these
places, however, a very unlucky Nemesis
overtook them. A young fellow was seated
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on a window-sill in the back drawing room —
for chairs were scarce — the curtains drawn,
and was gaily expatiating and flourishing to a
little " garrison hack " beside him, when he
suddenly fell backwards through the curtain
into the area. The poor fellow was killed on
the spot. I had been in the place a day or
two before. It was a fair illustration of the
reckless carelessness, the mere notion of such
a casualty never occurring to any one.

I suppose there is no place in the world
where that peculiar species, the "garrison hack,"
so flourishes. In Dublin the officer is looked
on much as the peer is by the London trades-
man ; he is admired, worshipped, followed ;
he is the only partner worth having, the only
admirer, the only husband. It was truly
astonishing to see a whole family — father,
mother, and daughter — all in eager chase of
some small boy, who had little more than his
pay, simply because "he was in th' army" ;
and still more surprising what a number of
marriages, some really advantageous, were
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brought off. But these little, trained " hacks,"
what creatures they were : unscrupulous,
giggling ever, passing from hand to hand
and from regiment to regiment, so that their
name and reputation extended to far-off
towns. They had nicknames and pet names
— "Jack" this and "Poll" that. They would
sit out in gardens, and on the top of the
stairs, in greenhouses, on the roof if they
could, anywhere, and were only too happy
and proud " to be caught." There were
tribes of these fluttering insects. I used to
watch them entering the ball-room, an
enormous, rather greasy-lipped mother at
their head, her charges following. They were
instantly surrounded by a cloud of hungry
" subs," and in another moment, for time
was not to be lost, the small hard -worked
creatures were flying round the room. The
" hack " generally did not rise much higher
than the Foot Regiment. The real triumph
lay with the more orderly and decorous girl,
who was seen reposing gracefully in the arms
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of a gold-laced, richly embroidered hussar
or dragoon.

As the English women were always loudly
inveighing against the "Irish dirt and general
sluttishness," it may be conceived they were
not very popular tenants of lodgings or houses.
Here may be an unsuspected cause of the native
dislike and even hatred of the Saxon, who, in
presence of any subject or provincial, cannot
put restraint on his or her tongue. The very
English groom or footman takes the same
airs. I once heard a general haranguing a
Guards regiment in the barrack square, telling
them that they were not to blame as to some
scuffles which they had had with what he
called " a low Dublin mob." In some cases
that I have known these ladies were actually
lodged in barracks — those dreadful old-time
barracks, the Royal, Island Bridge, or the
strangely named " Beggars' Bush." These
places, in spite of costly repairs and reforms,
have ever been hot-beds of fevers and other
epidemics. Ladies of better condition had
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to take lodgings or houses " on the Canal "
or " The Circular road," where they went
through much discomfort, owing to the in-
different service of their Irish attendants and
landladies.

At one time some good marriages had
" come off" during the season. There had
been visits of young men — from England
— who had gone home and reported these
" braw landin's," as John Brown had it.
Next season there arrived unexpectedly some
old candidate-matrons, with " marriageable
daughters," who took houses for the
season, and began their campaign. One was
a lady of title, but still she did not do much.
The comic part of the business was the fury
of the local matrons. No words could
express their indignation at this " poaching "
on their preserves. "I'm sure," said they
indignantly, " it's hard enough to get off
our daughters, with all the competition there
is : but to have Englishwomen coming over to
interfere with our market — " But they were
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no match for the intruders. An intrepid
mother belonging to one of the older
families, with a rosebud of a daughter, sur-
veyed the ground warily, and speedily captured
a well-to-do peer. But you should have
heard the Dublin matrons on this final out-
rage. The Dublin girls are like the American
girls — their charms are irresistible when at
the full, but they do not last. That delight-
ful naivete and (apparent) simplicity which
captivates the stranger, becomes lost with
years. Your flame of a dozen years ago is
changed — to your astonishment — into a stout
creature, whose naivete is positively dis-
agreeable. I know I shall be considered a
traitorous Irishman when I lay it down that no
Irish girl ought ever to marry an Englishman.
The two races cannot blend — there is a per-
petual jar between the precise habits of the
one and the happy-go-lucky or " shure it 'ill
do " ways of the other. Once a hard-working
professional man of my acquaintance indulged
his favourite son, of whom he had great
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hopes, with " a holiday in Ireland." After a
six weeks' absence I met him and noted a
peculiarly foolish look and giggling tones in his
voice. He then told me that he met a " de-
lightful attorney" at Cork with a "lovely"
daughter, and that, in short, he was to be
married. I saw the father later — there was
no giggling there. It was indeed a disastrous
business. A year or so later I met the happy
pair and was presented in due form. But the
" lovely " daughter was a common creature,
with a snappish manner, always eager to prove
that she was not inferior to the English
" any day " and could " hold her own." In
such ill-sorted menages we may be sure the
lady is constantly being told, " Oh, this is some
of your Paddy ways ! " or, with a sneering
laugh, " How thoroughly Irish you are ! "

There were amusing tales told by the
officers of their country partners. One
buxom young " thing " kept repeating during
the waltz, " Ah, don't, captain ; I tell ye,
don't ! Tire holdin me too toight" The
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captain, a grave, literal man, could only say,
"So sorry, I'm sure. I never intended, etc."
Presently it came again : " Ah, captain, do
not; ye're holdin' me too toight altogether"
On this the matter-of-fact partner withdrew,
but offered to introduce his friend as more
satisfactory. But presently he also was found
to be " holdin' me too toight" The sprightly
country misses were ever giggling, or thrown
into convulsions by the sayings of their
military partners, themselves astonished at
the effect of their own wit. The vocabulary
of one of these maidens was limited to
" Soch Fon ! " repeated over and over again.

In the dearth of military, the country
young ladies would often supplement their
admirers by the officers of the Royal Irish
Constabulary. These young fellows wore a
smart green uniform, and comported them-
selves much as their brethren of the army
did. They were, strictly speaking, policemen,
but the fair " made believe " in this matter.
This highly trained body of gendarmerie,
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for such they are, is well known and esteemed
all over the kingdom, and Charles Dickens
in the course of his travels through the
country was loud in his praise and admiration
of their civility and efficiency.

A prof os of Boz, when he and his retinue were
at the Dublin station of the Great Northern
Railway, the station-master, a very rough
customer, insisted that the apparatus of his
show — the violet screen, battens, &c. — should
be paid for as heavy luggage. It was a grace-
ful compliment, paid him invariably on all the
English lines, that no charge whatever should
be made. This was represented, but the
station-master declared that was nothing to
him. " Who was Mr. Dickens that he
shouldn't pay like every body else ? " Un-
gracious acts like these have done serious
injury to the reputation of the country ; no
doubt the fellow thought he was exhibiting
his " patriotism."

Once one of Boz's merry men in
Household Words — Walter Thornbury by
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name — found his way to Dublin, and
wrote a highly comic description of all its
humours, oddities, and absurdities, height-
ened, of course, to make an effect. It was
astonishing the fury this aroused in the
local press ; article after article appeared
" branding " him traitor in the most vehe-
ment language. But Dickens was the person
for whom they " went," and not his "wretched
scribe." Was this the man into whose
pockets the Dublin public had poured their
thousands ?

At one time there came over a couple of
young men, on pleasure bent, who arrived
with the purpose of making themselves at
home and enjoying everything. They brought
some letters of introduction. Their names

were D and M , the first being

the brother of a great artist. D had

a marked gift for society. It was not too
much to say that he got to know anybody
that he desired to know. High position
seemed to make it all the easier. In a short
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time they were both established as fashion-
able men, and knew everybody. Now, D

was but an average pattern of man enough —
he was not particularly gifted, or well read,
or a talker. As far as I could make out his
secret, he had the knack of being able to say
what was most agreeable to his listeners. His
success went on without interruption. Ordi-
nary persons asked him because he knew
great people, and could talk familiarly about
them before the guests. He had a fashion
of confidentially whispering in the ears of
high-born dames. His intimacy with Lord

P got him the directorship of the Irish

Picture Gallery, which for many years he
managed with great success. It also obliged
him — a thing he liked much — to make in-
numerable trips to London " on business,"
that is, to purchase desirable pictures at
Christie's and other places, while he took care
everywhere to flourish himself and his general
exertions, so as to make a stir and a noise.

D became quite a persona grata at the

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court ; knew everybody ; dined with every-
body. Had I been an ardent society man,
I must have envied his extraordinary manner
of winning his way. And yet it must be said
there was no abasement or flattery — he
maintained an independent tone and manner.
And so it went on. Not long before his
death I was hardly surprised to hear of his
walking with divers royal personages at
Homburg on the most easy terms. He was
not much of an artist in practice, but he made
his gifts go as far as they could be made to
go. As a judge of paintings, however, he
was really excellent.

As illustrating this Terpsichorean enthu-
siasm of Dublin, I recall a night at the Exhi-
bition Palace, where we had been dancing till
one o'clock, when a spirited, fairy-like young
creature from the cold north, the Hon. Miss

S , who was on a visit to her aunt,

brought us all off to a little supper at her

house, which we enjoyed for an hour or

more : when the whole party, refreshed and

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invigorated, returned to the ball-room, where
we continued our mad rounds till five o'clock
in the morning. O le beau temps passe" !
O jeunesse ! O beaute ! neiges d'automne, ou
sont-elles? (Dumas, ahem !)

Once there was a military ball at the old
town of Drogheda. We thought it nothing to
go down — a journey of between thirty and
forty miles — dance all the night, and come
up by the early morning train. I remember
we had a full train, every one, as the guard
said, " dressed to the ninety-nines." It was
at this or at some other performance that
the musicians forgot to bring their music ; at
all events, I remember distinctly some outsider
was impounded to play the bass. He learnt
a couple of notes, which he used impartially
and alternately the whole night. What did
it matter ? No one cared. What, by the
way, has gone with that queer dance, La
Tempete — " Tom Pate " it was called — which
at one time was all the rage, and whose
movements I have quite forgotten ?
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In these days of the fifties the rale ould
Irish gentleman flourished as much as ever, with
his old, wild ways. A governess of our family
went in the same capacity to the house of a
country gentleman to take charge of hi s daughter.
He was a quiet, gentlemanly man, and treated
the lady with the most grave and decorous
attention. But there were riotous times.
She told a strange story of a sort of orgy at
the place. A largish party of men came over
from the races, twenty miles away, to dine, at
about nine o'clock. They " kept it up " well.
The governess went to bed, but was suddenly
awakened in the small hours and in the broad
daylight, about four o'clock, by a general
uproar. She saw the whole party of guests
running about in front of the house in their
shirts! They were darting in and out among
the trees, performing the wildest antics, all
dead or mad drunk, jumping, " lepping,"
and tumbling into the ditches. At last the
horses were called for and the dogs and the
horns, and away the mad crew went, like
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Herne the Hunter, flying all round the park.

The horns were winding. There was one G ,

apparently a discreet personage, but he was
found too drunk to mount, so he was tumbled
back into bed. Every now and again the
governess would hear the horns winding out
in different directions, as the mad ride went on.

Now, this G , waking from his drunken

slumbers, gave himself a rousing shake, and,
hearing the cheerful sounds, jumped up.
He was seen rushing madly out of the little
summer-house, into which they had thrust
him, in his shirt, joining in full chase across
the country. It was now the early dawn, and
the peasants were hurrying off to milk
the cows, and all the wild men were pursuing
them. Then came into view some of the
riders who now had on dressing-gowns. A
rough business altogether !

I was told by the late Earl of Lytton a

story of S r F d, an Irishman who

at one time was a good deal before the

public. He was believed to be "hard

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up," and Mr. Disraeli, wishing to help him,
wrote to offer him one of the great Indian
Governorships. The other affectedly wrote
back, "that he must take time to consider
it." As " Dizzy " said indignantly to Lord
Lytton, " Here is a man walking about
London, his pockets stuffed with his un-
paid washerwoman's bills — I offer him a
Governorship worthy of a Roman pro-
Consul, and he writes me back that he will
consider it ! "

There was, about the fifties, a regular riot
at the United Service Club, in St. Stephen's
Green; the officers of the i6th Lancers
throwing bread and potatoes about, smashing
windows,&c. Nine were expelled the club. A
certain wild lord escaped, though it is said he
was at the bottom of the " row." Indeed,
the officers at this time took strange licence
and did very doubtful things. I was one
night going away from a ball with a young
dragoon, when he wanted a cigar. " Oh, we
always try the coats," he said, and proceeded

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to feel all the pockets. The servants, how-
ever, grew suspicious and interfered.

I suppose in no society could be found
such a collection of lively and truly humorous
spirits as were rife about the time of the
sixties. The fun and joviality of these
pleasant souls was truly enjoyable. There
was at one time Corry Connellan, whose jests
are still retailed — but rather artificial things,
and " made at leisure." Such was his gibe
at a certain physician, who had taken an
ex-convict as his man-servant — to show his
confidence — that " he would presently be the
only spoon left in his house." How superior,
for instance, was the remark of some one when
they were discussing what sort of inscription
should be placed on the tomb of an eminent
physician, Sir Henry Marsh, at Mount
Jerome. " Put over him Sir Christopher
Wren's," said this person. " Si monumentum re-
quiris, circumspice" This, I know, was repeated
to Dickens, who could not say enough of its wit.

Recollections of Dublin Castle

Some years ago there was published a
delightful collection of stories, collected by
a most pleasant being, all of which stories I
knew well, for he had been in the habit of tell-
ing them with infinite fun and rollickingness.
They produced a great impression. This was
William Le Fanu, a high Government official
and general diner-out. Needless to say, he
used to keep the tables in a roar. His genial
expressive Irish was part of the dramatic
effect. And yet he was of French Huguenot
descent, like so many of the Dublin folk
who have French names and others. Yet I
have often noticed that, with all their strong
Protestant feelings and antipathies, the Pro-
testant gentry are often far more truly Irish,
more sympathetic with the natives, understand
their ways better, and regard them with more
interest and affection, than do the Catholics.
I am speaking, however, of those old days.
William Le Fanu was heart and soul with the
people, and could talk with them in their own
way.

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But in Ireland surprises meet us at every
turn. Often the most Irish of Irishmen,
the most racy of the soil, turn out to be
Englishmen ! I never was so astonished to
find that two of my countrymen, in whom
I had a sort of pride and faith, were regular
Englishmen. Such were Charles Lever, whose
father and mother were English born and
bred, though he himself chanced to have been
born in Ireland; and Sir John Stevenson,
Moore's colleague in the Melodies, who
was a Scot. Power, the best of stage Irish-
men, was from Wales. I have known two
sons of an English family settled in the
country, one of whom remained English in
heart, manner, and accent all his life, while
the other was wholly transformed into a rough
native Irishman and spoke with a brogue.

I remember coming up with this William
Le Fanu from the north, a journey of four
hours or so. There was a friend or two of
his own with him and a couple of rather stiff
English officers. He began with some droll
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remarks and comments ; then followed stories
one after the other, convulsing everybody, the
officers particularly. One story was " better
than the other." The hours flew ; one of the
officers said to me, as we parted, " Who is
that wonderful man ? I really never met his
like."

His brother "Joe" Le Fanu, the well-
known novelist, was, in his way, a humorist
too. A sort of Orangeman, owner of a very
strongly Protestant paper and vehement in
his attacks, he illustrated the curious truth
which I mentioned before, of this strange
interest and sympathy in the people. From
his Huguenot extraction he detested the
Roman Catholic " errors," yet no one had
such an appreciation, or tender regard, for the
peasantry and their ways and habits. He
even wrote a rather rebellious story ; while
some of his ballads, inflammatory enough, are
well known and admired through all English-
speaking countries. Most people know
Shamus 0'2?r/>#, that powerful lyric, describ-
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ing the hanging of a patriot, with an exciting
rescue. His brother knew these things by
heart, and was sometimes prevailed on to
recite them, which he did with singular
dramatic power and effect. Gradually the
news of this performance spread. After
dinner at a party the visitors would beg him
to deliver his ballad, and, with a great deal of
simplicity, he would seat himself on a chair in
the middle of the room and begin. It was
a rare treat. There was, as Mr. Crummies
says, " cheers, tears, and laughter." Gradually
it became a regular institution. He could
not dine anywhere without its being called
for. At the Castle it was of course demanded.
And what shall I say of that son of Momus,
Nedley, doctor to the police force, the gayest,
most mercurial, and readiest of humorists !
He never for an instant failed with a retort,
which was indisputable, and, on the instant,
carried the other off his legs. He delighted
in encountering literal people. As when he
said to the wife of a famous singer, " Why
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don't you call me in ? I hear you have got
some local murderer to attend your servant."
" Murderer, Dr. Nedley ? That is very
uncalled for. I don't understand you ;
Dr. is no murderer." He then pro-
ceeded to play on this topic to the delight of
her husband.

Dr. Nedley could not play well unless he
had his favourite partner, just as Dan Leno has
his Herbert Campbell. This brings us to one
who has become more known and celebrated
after his death than he was in his lifetime,
viz., Father Healey, parish priest of Little
Bray. Few wits have made such a reputation,
or have been so relished by audiences of all
kinds; few have so increased " the gaiety of
nations " or of his own nation. His jests were
being constantly repeated, passing from mouth
to mouth, with a fresh chuckle every time.
In appearance he was like one of Lever's
jovial priests, with a round, jocund, amazingly
cheerful face, which brought good humour
with it everywhere. What twinkling eyes
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and what a roguish smile ! His wit was
certainly lively ; it was always practical, and
dealt with the situation — not a mere playing
with words. Take, for instance, his pleasant
saying when he returned from travelling in
the East, with a friend, who had paid all
expenses. They were entering a tramcar to
go to Dublin — their last journey — when
Father Healey peremptorily restrained his
friend from paying his fare : "No, no, it's
my turn now! "

A good specimen of his "readiness," one
which he related to me himself, was his
riposte to a great man, Mr. Gladstone, who
had asked him to one of his breakfasts. It
was a rich treat to hear him racily touch
off, with his usual ingenuity, the host who
had gathered an odd menagerie of free-
thinkers and others, thinking, perhaps, there
was a certain piquancy in the contrast of
elements. In the course of the meal the
great man said, his brow contracted with
a portentous gravity, " What would you say to
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this, Father Healey ? On the door of a church
in Rome I saw with my own eyes an inscrip-
tion that an indulgence of thousands of years
was to be had — all for the sum of one franc !
What do you say to that, Father Healey — one
franc ? " Every one was listening. " Well,
and what more would you want for the
money ? Isn't it dirt cheap ? " This was
greeted with an approving roar of laughter;
but even more amusing was the still por-
tentous brow of W. E. G., who seemed to
think the point had been merely turned, and
not fairly met.

When he and his friend Nedley were at the
same table, then the fun became fast and
furious. The two engaged in wit contests;
gibes, personalities of the most excruciating
kind were interchanged, neither was for a
moment at a loss for a retort. As Dr.
Johnson would say, they " downed " each
other in the most amusing fashion. The
servants standing by, listening open-mouthed,
joined in the hilarity and general roar.
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With this attraction, it may be conceived,
Father Healey was in perpetual demand.
As he told me himself, from year's end to
year's end he need not have dined a single
day at home. He was persona grata at the
Viceroy's. But when he came to London it
was very extraordinary how much he was
repandu. I have met him in Piccadilly, when
he would tell me that he had just been
with, some royal personage — dukes, earls
were but common acquaintances. One day,
on asking him where he was coming from, he
said casually, "Just been lunching with the
Salisbury*" Personally, I confess I wish
there had been less of this Momus element
in him, for it is scarcely compatible with a
strict round of clerical life ; but we must
have indulgence for the nature of the man,
which, like Foote's, was quite " incompres-
sible " : and also on account of the immense
influences exercised upon him and the tempta-
tions held out.

There was yet another ecclesiastical wit,
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also a great pulpit orator, Father Burke of
the Dominicans, of a fine presence, and a
face like that of Sterne's monk, that was
" mild, pale, and penetrating." He had the
true fire and burning words. It was cer-
tainly a rare treat to hear him, but I never
could concede his claims to be a wit or
humorist. He was a mere joker and doer
of practical jokes.

The late W. J. or Dr. FitzPatrick, " the
modern Suetonius," collected all these efforts,
and formed them into what was called " A
Life," in which he unconsciously produced
an effect the very opposite of what he in-
tended; and as a result the poor monk is
portrayed as a rather unclerical, highly
grotesque being. He worked also in the
same spirit on Father Healey, Archbishop
Whately, Lady Morgan, O'Connell, and
others, adding certainly a new terror to
death. And he was also a source of some
alarm to the living. He was perpetually
groping among old papers, letters, and the

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like, and discovering awkward secrets. He
would tell you in a cosy way, and in his high
treble : "I have just purchased a number ot
curious documents, in one of which there is
a curious transaction relating to your grand-
father. Did you ever know that he had a
salary from the Government to act as spy,
&c. ? I have all the documents."

There comes before me now that eccentric
being — antiquarian, writer, novelist — W. R.
Wilde, afterwards Sir William, father of that
luckless pair, Oscar and William. He culti-
vated an abrupt Abernethy style to his
patients. He was certainly very clever, and
was the husband of the fair poetess Spe-
ranza, as she signed herself, a rather lan-
guishing heroine. Wilde had a wit of his
own, as when he addressed a certain Miss
Mary Travers, who later on brought an
action against him, as "Ernest Moll Travers."
His travels are interesting, as is his mono-
graph on Dean Swift's madness. The dean's
skull was dug up and handed round at a

Recollections of Dublin Castle

scientific meeting, at which one of the neck
bones disappeared ! The fate of his two
sons was disastrous, and a warning to the
young Irish adventurer who thinks he can
bite the pitiless granite of London. William
Wilde was the typical Bohemian, the Irish
strain superimposed. He passed through all
manner of shifts and adventures, and " fell
on his feet " once at least, having married
a rich American, who tranquilly discarded
him, owing to his own fault and folly.
His brother's pieces are being played at
this moment : his affectations, ridiculed in
Patience -, were for a time an enjoyment. I
always delighted in that speech of his when
he went to America, which was telegraphed
over to Europe, " that he was much dis-
appointed in the Atlantic Ocean."

There was indeed an extraordinary group
of Irishmen who all about the same time set
off to seek their fortune in London. These
were the two Wildes, the two Moores — George
and Augustus — and G. Bernard Shaw, son of

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a Fellow of Trinity. Some of them were
brilliant, others clever, and all had a certain
"go" and originality and a dash of Bohe-
mianism. Their adventures must have been
exciting, and they certainly have succeeded
in exciting public attention.

There was a worthy, much respected priest
attached to Westland Row Chapel, a place
about the size of a small cathedral, yet oddly
styled a chapel. This was Canon Pope, and
a curious personage he was. He was affected
by an extravagant and exuberant loyalty to
her late Majesty and the Royal Family at
any crisis, such as an escape from an assassin.
At the mere rumour of her coming over to
visit the country the canon's emotions were
stirred, and he would address the august
lady a letter couched in terms of almost
hysterical affection and admiration. Her
Majesty used to acknowledge these ad-
dresses in kindly terms. All his sermons
were in the same rapturous and exaggerated
style. I once heard him say, and I give
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it " textually," as the French have it —
" Some men will sell their souls for titles
and wealth ; some for an emolumentary situa-
tion ; and some," here he paused to make it
more impressive, "for nothing at all!" I
heard that, I know not how many years
ago, but I have never forgotten the delicious
unctuousness of that "em-olu-ment-ary si-tu-
ation ; " he lingered over the syllables softly,
as though he himself would not have been
disinclined to some such situation. It was the
same on any public crisis — a burning down,
a murder, when the Canon's feeling broke
forth in a sort of flowery and, I must say,
meaningless "lingo" that was all his own.
The occasion, however, on which he excelled
himself was on the return of the Irish brigade
from the war. They had volunteered to
assist his Holiness, and " Major O'Reilly of
Knockabbey Castle " commanded. The party
was besieged in Spoleto, and after a brief
period duly surrendered as prisoners of war.
After a time they were released and sent home.
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The populace swarmed to the terminus to
greet their heroes, among the rest our Canon,
who was to make his grandest, most florid
speech of welcome on the occasion. He was
quite carried away ; he saw the battle-fields,
the desperate struggle, and finally broke out :
"Ah, my friends, the Irish Guards know well
how to die, but to surrender — never/" A
long shout greeted this astonishing declaration,
made in the most perfect belief and good
faith, but exquisitely comic, when we think
that it was addressed to, and cheered by, men
who actually had not died, and were actually
where they were because they had surrendered !
It never occurred to any one that the Canon's
oration was not all gospel truth. It was duly
printed in the papers, and much admired.

I bethink me here of another cheerful
divine, still happily flourishing, who once
contributed much to the gaiety of the city —
Chancellor Tisdall, Chancellor of St. Doulagh.
He was ever a jocund being, tall and portly,
full of good stories, with a penchant for actors,
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of whom he had known many great ones of
the old school. We are not strait-laced in
Dublin, and there is held to be no incongruity
in these things. Our chancellor had a rich
tenor voice, and sang old ballads with infinite
taste. How would he give " Come into the
Garden" or " My Pretty Jane," to the enrap-
turing of the well-filled diners out ! Once
at one of these banquets there was deep dis-
appointment when it was found there was no
pianist to accompany the chancellor, who
thereupon appealed to me to help him.
Nothing loth, I sat down, extemporised some
chords, and we got through admirably.

Apropos, when a well-known publisher came
to Dublin, some client entertained him — and
myself — at dinner ; the subject of music was
started, and our publisher volunteered a song,
which was an old and old-fashioned friend —
"Sally in our Alley." Our host lamented
that there was no one present who knew the
art of accompaniment, so we must be deprived
of the pleasure, &c. " Dear me, not at all,"
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said the guest, who was rather antediluvian
both in manner and garb ; " the fact is, I
never do sing it with an accompaniment ; it
spoils the tune." And without more ado,
and pushing his chair a little forward out of
the circle, he struck up " Of all the girls," &c.
He went through it with all the old flourish-
ings and eye-upturnings, doing, in fact, what
the street ballad -singer told her offspring
to do : " Curl it — curl it, ye little beggar."
There were a number of young girls and
irreverent youths present, whose suppressed
laughter it was painful to witness. All, indeed,
were struggling with the same emotion, but
when the regular shake came at the close there
was very near by a general explosion.

Who will forget the roistering Lord C ,

of the rubicund face and convivial habits,
who was always pervading Dublin, and
concerning whom there was always some
strange tale circulating ! He was a survival
of the old Irish pattern, fond of his glass,
and not having the Baron of Bradwardine's
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method of carrying his liquor discreetly. It
was said he would " drop in " at any officers'
mess whenever it suited him, and without in-
vitation— an unceremonious practice that was
not relished.

Some of us will no doubt be able to recall
that odd wild being "Tom Connolly," one
of the last survivors of the " rale ould Irish
gintleman," who did all sorts of strange reck-
less things, which yet astonished nobody,
because done by " Tom Connolly." He was
a thoughtless, joyous, good-humoured fellow,
and a good-natured one too. He was spoken
of as "Tom Connolly of Castletown," his
place in the country, a good many miles
from Dublin. Castletown we always sup-
posed to be something magnificent — after the
Chatsworth pattern — too grand altogether for
a private gentleman. Here he once gave a sort
of grotesque entertainment, half " afternoon,"
half ball, which began at about four o'clock,
and lasted till one or two in the morning. A
vast number of people drove down to the jovial
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scene. I was much astonished to see this vast
and stately mansion, a huge central palace with
spreading wings, and vast and palatial chambers
within ; but all in a dreadful state of dilapi-
dation and neglect. Tom was everywhere, in
a bright blue tail-coat and gilt buttons, dancing
with every one, in an old-fashioned style, and
keeping the fun going. What a revel it was !
The hours did not pass too slowly. Towards
midnight I went out to try and find our
vehicle, if I could by some happy chance ;
for all were herded together in a confused
mass on the lawn and in the road, or every-
where. Seeking in vain in the front, I thought
I would pass round through to the back, and
the next instant found myself precipitated
down a deep sunk fence, at the bottom of
which I lay with my face turned to the stars.
I was only a little stunned, but found great
difficulty in rescuing myself from the abyss.
It was a narrow escape indeed, as it was all
lined with stones at the bottom. I could not
but think of the grim story that might have
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found its way into the papers : the family
vainly waiting and searching, and then at last
the suggestion: "Oh, of course he went back
to town," where equally of course he would
not be found. This " mysterious disappear-
ance of a gentleman " would have been a two-
days wonder or talk.

This entertainment suggests another of a
rather singular kind, given by an American
lady, no other than the mother of the patriot,
Charles Stewart Parnell, who must then have
been in his frocks. It was a sort of " go as
you please " show. There was to be a late
lunch, then a tea, and then a sort of dinner,
to be followed by a dance. The idea was
that the guest was to take up his residence in
the house for this protracted period ! I recall
meeting there the pleasant Dion Boucicault,
then bringing out his <Arrah na Pogue for
the first time. When I congratulated him on
his success he said coolly : " No success at all,
my boy ; won't do, and must be done over
again." And so it was. The skilful, well-
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trained dramatist cut away a vast portion and
re-wrote the rest. Mrs. Parnell had a bevy
of pretty daughters who did their best to
stimulate the proceedings, but the fact was,
no one knew why on earth he was there, or
what was to be done next, so the thing gradually
languished out, and, quietly folding our tents,
we stole away very early. Who could have
dreamed, looking that night on the interesting
family, what a strange chapter was to follow ?
We had a humorist who had an amazing
flow of what might be called simulated
oratory. Often after supper he would stand
up and make amazing speeches of the most
diverting kind. If there were a guest present,
he would set off with an imaginative biography
of the visitor, done minutely and with an
extraordinary air of veracity. Thus : " At
this period of his life, our hero, gentlemen,
became involved in a very awkward affair,
which, as he is present, I should like to pass
by ; only I am bound to say, as I find that he
did not acquit himself with all the credit we

Recollections of Dublin Castle

might have expected, &c." Then would
follow some odd, grotesque history, told as in
a newspaper case, with name and dates, to
the great embarrassment of the victim. Once
a dull man gave a song, " I'm afloat," but
in quite a faint, squeaky voice which he called
a tenor. When he had concluded, our orator
leaped to his feet to propose the singer's
health in almost passionate terms of admira-
tion. " Never," he said, " was such floods of
sound, nay, he would say such cataracts of
sound, poured out on mortal ears since the
days of Orpheus. The delight, the rapturous
enjoyment their friend had furnished would
never, &c." Another innocent stranger would
be gravely remonstrated with, " I see, sir, in
your face * amorous propensities ' — his one
failing, gentlemen — which have already led
him into such embarrassment, and which
may eventually wreck an otherwise blameless
life." These fooleries were entertaining
enough.

I never forgot a strange clergyman of my
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acquaintance whom I met in a bookseller's
shop. " Look at this," he said, showing me
a book, " The Glories of Women " — "a noble
work. I got it over without a moment's
delay. It is enough to make one marry at
once. You see," he said, gravely, " the supe-
riority of women over men is as a circle is to
a right line. Now, women are all circles ; not
so men." He left me with this cryptic utter-
ance. The incident has always puzzled me,
though it is forty years since. Another
divine, who was preaching on riches, sud-
denly turned to the stalls, as it were, and
broke out, " And you rich, what are ye ?
Nothing but dirt, scum, filth, maggots, that's
what ye all are." The persons so addressed
grew quite uncomfortable. Another, who
was much interrupted by coughs, suddenly
stopped, and then said simply, " Coughin'
must cease," as though it were sufficient to
give his order. At another church the custom
was to ring a bell, after twenty minutes or so,
when the preacher had to stop — even in the
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

middle of a sentence — and descend. One
of our family was present when the clergyman
said he would deal first with the objections
made to the existence of a Supreme Being —
which he put very forcibly. Just as he was
about to begin to demolish these heresies the
bell rang and he had to come down, leaving
behind him the bane without the antidote.

The pleasant fellows about were always
ready enough with their quips. As, when it
was debated what name should be taken by an

amateur dramatic club, Sir J C

suggested " The Gnostics," i.e., " the No-
Sticks." Good too was the suggested text for
a sermon at the opening of the restored St.
Patrick's — " Who shall be for us if God be
agin' us" — (a Guinness) — a text, it was
added, to be found in " He-brews." A
fellow in court, pressed about some meeting,
said, " My lord, I heard them making a randy
voo."

There was a good story told of Lord Naas,
later better known as Lord Mayo, the ill-

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fated Governor of India. He was much
interested in fowl- breeding. One morning,
before a number of guests, he read out a
letter from his breeder about a particular hen
of whom he had great hopes — " She has laid
an egg, but will not hatch ; so, your lordship
being absent in Dublin, I put it under the
goose." The reader was so interested in the
information that he did not perceive the
equivoque until the wily Corry Connellan,
court jester at the time, gravely asked him to
read the passage again, and to read it slowly.
Nothing is more curious in Dublin than
the airy, general, easy fashions of despatching
business which suggest Leigh Hunt — or
Skimpole. I knew a friend of mine who was
about to be married — a rather important
alliance — and it had come to the wedding-day
— to about noon. The ceremony was for two
o'clock. "Jove ! " said the bridegroom, " and
there's the settlements not signed yet ! " We
hurried to the solicitor's office. Solicitor not
" in," but would be " by-and-by." After
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

waiting some time — " Oh, he's sure to turn
up," said my friend — our solicitor came
lounging in, and in a leisurely way the thing
was done. My friend — a light-hearted
fellow — actually forgot to take his tickets at
Kingstown, and, rushing ashore, had a narrow
escape of being left behind. His friends
diverted themselves picturing the situation of
the bride carried off, making the journey
without her mate and so on.

Chief Justice Doherty,whomO'Connell nick-
named "Dirty Doherty," gave Mr. Le Fanu
a pleasant account of a dinner given in St.
Stephen's Green to do honour to the son of Sir
Walter Scott, then quartered in Dublin. He was
a " heavy dragoon," and as it proved, in more
senses than the technical one. Great attention
was paid to him ; and Doherty, Bushe, and
others tried hard to " bring him out," but
nothing could be extracted. He continued
eating his dinner and wiping his moustache.
At last, towards the end, as though feeling he
was expected to do something for the credit
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of the honoured name he bore, he abruptly
broke out — a propos of nothing — " Ma twa
aunts had a pairott — ane day, o' a sudden, the
pairott flapped its wings and ca'd oot * Laird
a maircy ! ' and then the pairott just dropped
down dead ! " He then stopped abruptly
and went on eating. Doherty and the
others could only say " most curious ! " —
" highly interesting " — and there was general
amusement. But the young man said no
more.

Walking with a pleasant doctor, we passed
his house. " 1 must go in for one moment,"

he said. " Old used to say, never pass

your house, for you never know but that there
may be a rat in the trap." When he came out
he said, " Oh, there was nothing but one of
the God-reward-you sort." Old Bushe sent
down to his doctor — " Tell him I'm too ill to
see him to-day." An attorney once said to
me, " Now, of all places in the kingdom I
give my vaito for Scotland."

I was told of an Irish valet whom a newly
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married pair had taken with them on their
travels. On arriving at their first hotel the
husband, who was somewhat shy, cautioned
his servant not to say anything about the
marriage, so that they should pass as ordinary
folk and not be remarked. " Oh, depind
on me ; I'll not let on, sir," said Pat. During
the next day he noticed that they were
much stared at, and that the guests kept
carefully away. " Now, you rascal," said the
master, " I see that you have been blabbing
what I told you to keep secret." "As I
live, sir, not a word ! Didn't I tell every
wan of them that ye's wasn't married, as ye's
told me to say." This may have been one
of Father Healey's stories. Pat's way of
not " letting on " was original.

A rather simple lady of our acquaintance
once wrote to us : " Could you give me an in-
vitation/or the enclosed gentleman ?" I heard
one of the judges, who had a forcible diction of

his own, say : " Now, Mr. , what's the

use of your goin' on with this ? You
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haven't the shadow of a shade of a stick of
a leg to stand on ! "

There were aggressive divines who thun-
dered and assailed each other, such as the Rev.
Tresham Gregg, nicknamed " Thrashem "
Gregg, and another Gregg, later a bishop,
who had a church of his own, always spoken
of by the car-drivers as " Gregg's Church."

I came to know Anthony Trollope very
well, and liked him much. I once met him
in London at a dinner-party — we were next
each other — when he began to talk with
much enjoyment of the happy time in
Dublin when he was in the Post Office.
His mother's influence procured him this
situation. Poor " Mother Trollope " is now
forgotten, yet she furnished great amusement
with her " Widow Barnaby " and other stories
which were looked for and expected, and
came out regularly. Mrs. Gore was another
of the permanent purveyors of fiction. But
to return to Anthony. He was devoted to
hunting, yet how was a poor low-salaried

Recollections of Dublin Castle

clerk to enjoy such a luxury ? His way was
to pick up some useful animal for £20 or so,
and he managed to get a couple of days in
the week with the Ward Union. He
never enjoyed life so much, he said. Poor
Anthony ! He proposed me for the Garrick
Club, and did me other services.

It was astonishing how many Englishmen
came to live in Ireland to enjoy the hunting,
which was really excellent. Excellent Irish-
men they became, and I noticed were always
kind and sympathetic to the natives, whom
they understood and liked, and who liked
them. There was one, however — a sort of
Cockney — whose perpetually dropping " h's "
caused constant amusement. A favourite
formula of his was : " I bought an 'ack, but
he turned out an 'unter. What 'urts hall
the 'orses 'ere is the 'ammering them along
the 'ard 'igh roads." This speech was partly
manufactured for him, but he was often led
to repeat it.

The extra-refined style of pronouncing
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English affected by certain genteel folk was
well illustrated by a superfine lady of our
acquaintance, who announced to us one day
that she had "just bought a broacket for her
cloak" This was thought to be some sort
of rich trimming, but what was meant was
that she had purchased " a bracket for her
clock." Better still was the speech of a
hospitable nobleman pressing a guest to eat :
" Lane on it, my boy, lane on it."

It had an odd effect to hear a witness in
court say impressively that "if he were to do
such a thing, he hoped it would be the last
day of his life." More grotesque was the
solemn declaration of an honest peasant :
" May I never sin again, sir, if I'm not
telling you the truth."

There was a clever but somewhat eccentric
Professor and Fellow of Trinity College —
the Rev. Samuel Haughton — who was noted
for his various hobbies and discussions. He
spent much of his time in the Zoological
Gardens among the animals, upon whom he
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sometimes performed curious operations ; for
he was a surgeon as well as a cleric. His
quaintest fancy was his taking up the subject
of execution by hanging. He made profound
scientific investigations into what should be
the proper fall or " drop " to ensure death,
and arrived at a formula by which the length
of the rope was worked out mathematically.
He was in communication with Calcraft,
Marwood, and other Professors, one of whom
he at last prevailed on to submit his theory to
actual practice. On the first experiment, to
the general horror, the Professor's " drop "
was so efficacious that the unfortunate
criminal's head was actually twisted off!

There was a report current in the city that
a well-known personage was dead, and for a
few days it was accepted ; but presently it was
announced that the personage was alive and
well. The news gave general satisfaction —
save to one, who appeared discontented.
" Oh, it's most annoying," he said to a
friend, " and most awkward too, for me.
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The fact is, I have been telling all sorts of
things about him on the assumption that
he was dead." " But if they were true ? "
said the friend. " Oh, I don't know about
that," said the other, pettishly ; " that's
not the point. It's really most awkward
for me."

Once there came to Kingstown, in a small
war steamer, Prince Napoleon, the son of
Jerome and the nephew of the Great One.
It was curious what an excitement this caused
among the populace, who followed him and
his officers about the streets, to his visible
annoyance. I have also seen in court
Madame Bonaparte Wyse — an absurd frantic
woman — niece of the great Napoleon. They
received many invitations to parties where
the hostesses' French must have amused the
officers. Thus I often heard " Purmetty-moi
de vous antrodweere" — and you heard on all
sides the refusal "No mercy" The officers
would bow gravely. I remember seeing his
father in Paris, and it was a curious thing to
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

look on the yellow Italian features with the
" nutcracker " nose and chin. There was
another nephew — Prince Lucien — some years
ago going about London, whose features
offered the same striking likeness. His burial
was an extraordinary one, and an account of
it was given to me by one who attended it.
He was first shown lying in state on his bed
arrayed in full evening dress — white tie —
and the broad riband of the Legion across
his breast. He was then put into a shell,
" all accoutred as he was," and transported to
Kensal Green to an open grave, into which
he was let down — in his evening dress and
coffinless ! This was told me by Charles
Kent, a well-known person, and I took it
down in writing the same day.

What extraordinary, reckless experiments
were made in the appointments of Irish Secre-
taries ! What could be more rash and wanton
than sending the son of the great Sir Robert
Peel ? He already had had " a record " of
intemperate violence in Switzerland and
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other places. It was notorious that he could
not carry his liquor discreetly — like Scott's
Baron ; he was constantly in riots and
scuffles. And this was the man that a saga-
cious government — old Pam's — named to a
very critical post ! What might be expected
followed. There were constant adventures,
disappearances — strange tales hushed up, and
the like. It must be said that he was popular
with the people, who treated his escapades
indulgently. The curious element was that
the cold and classical Lady Emily Peel, the
refined, high-born dame, who looked on,
disdaining to notice, finding it useless to
check these excesses, went her road, and left
him to his own devices.

When Chichester Fortescue, who later
became Lord Carlingford, was Chief Secre-
tary, he brought with him his wife, the much-
married Countess of Waldegrave. This
high dame kept "things humming," as it is
termed, and there was nothing but dinners
and balls, and concerts and plays, with relays
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

of great folks on visits. Mr. Fortescue, a
correct, exceedingly gentlemanly " pusson,"
was completely put in the shadow by the lime-
light in which his energetic partner moved
about the stage. As all knew, he was her
fourth husband ; the first being Mr. Walde-
grave, her second the Earl his brother, the
third Mr. Harcourt, and finally Mr. For-
tescue. In spite of these mutations, she was
really . well preserved — " got up " in the
most juvenile fashion — and passed for a
middle-aged lady. This idea was strengthened
by her animation and activity. There were
stories of the long hours spent in the morn-
ing, preparing that wonderful face for the
day.

I heard from a contemporary of hers that,
when the eccentric Lady Caroline Lamb, his
wife, found that her husband was going to
Ireland as Secretary, she was most eager to
go with him, saying to Lady Morgan: " Oh,
it would be so nice to get a lodging in Hoey's
Court ! " Hoey's Court was a mere slum
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close to the Liberties, and in one of the
tottering shanties Swift had been born.

There used to be a strange, afflicted figure
seen about, at the clubs and elsewhere, his
head twisted aside and brought down upon
his chest. In addition, he had something of
a Satanic cast that suggested the famous
violinist ; hence he was nicknamed " Paganini

L ." He was the son of an archbishop.

It was odd to meet this rather ill-omened
apparition in the street. He used to hunt,
and was once thrown from his horse, when
a friend of his found the peasantry gathered
round him, busily engaged in " sthrivin' to
sthraighten" his poor neck, which they
fancied was dislocated. The victim was cry-
ing out, " Born so, born so ! " At the club
he was constantly seated in the bow-window
looking out into the street, hence he got the
lively nickname of " The Winder Pest."

There was an interesting association with
this "Paganini" Lindsay. His father's grand-
mother— and I can recollect Archbishop
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

Lindsay — was given away on her marriage
by King Charles II. ! This is a long stretch
backwards, but is not so long as that in the
case of a Colonel Maude who was alive
about 1860, and whose grandfather was at
the Battle of the Boyne. I have met Mr.
Maude, the clever manager-actor of the
Haymarket, and it was strange to think he
was the nephew of one so connected with
the past.

An official in the Record Office, a clever
man too, had a reputation for saying rather

biting things — Sir T. G . It was he

who said of a literary friend, who had made
money in the tallow trade, " He a great writer,
sir ? Why, he's the modern Suetonius.'" The
name of this gentleman's seat always "arrided''
me — " Kilmacud Manor " : there was such a
blend of dignity and of the grotesque in it.

Every one has heard of the strangely

deformed Mr. Kavanagh, a truly clever,

resourceful creature, without arms or legs.

Surely it could only be in this land of sur-

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prises that such an afflicted being should be
chosen member of Parliament by a constitu-
ency, and only in such a land that so suffering
a man would accept the honour. It was
rather a shock for ladies in an interesting
condition to see a human being roll of a
sudden into the room like a ball, or carried
in on the shoulders of a servant and set
down on a chair. More astounding and
perhaps diabolical must it have been to meet
on the road, at the hunt, this armless and
legless rider, who was secured somehow to
his saddle, and whose bridle was hooked
on to his shoulder. Yet he rode admirably.
Even in London people grew familiar with
this phenomenon, and in the House of
Commons when the division was called he
was privileged to remain with the Speaker,
an odd duet. We can only wonder how
any one could care for public life under
such conditions. More astounding still, he
was married and had children.

There was an old broken peer, often seen
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

about Dublin — Lord M . His money

was all gone. I recall meeting him one
day at his attorney's, who had him in
charge and boarded him, and was trying to
recover something for him out of the wreck.
A lady of title who had lent him .£5000
began to press for its repayment, and now
his friends suggested that the way to pay it
off would be to marry. This might seem
a hopeless business, as he was close on ninety
years old : but the matter was taken up
seriously by every one, and various desirable
candidates were submitted. The fact was,
they had not enough to satisfy the claim.
At last a good-looking girl was found that
suited. The preparations were made, and
the day fixed. It came to the eve of the
solemnity, and the young lady was exhibit-
ing to him her new dresses — in company
with some of her friends, when he fell down
and expired before them !

A friend was staying in a house in the
country where there was a trusty Caleb
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Balderstone of a servant. The master, a
needy county magistrate, was entertaining a
large number of guests. " More glasses,"
said the magistrate, loftily. " Faith, I can't,
sir," said the man ; " ye know we lint them
yesterday, and they haven't come back."
Another host in the same plight kept calling
out, " Fetch this, fetch that ! " At last Caleb,
after various ingenious excuses, said : "Shure,
sir, everything ye have in the wurrld is on
the table!"

A host with a strong brogue, which he
was affectedly striving to refine — always an
amusing thing — said at table : " Let me send
you a little more beecon with your vale."
A propos, there was a very refined young
married lady who, hearing some one praise
fried bacon, cried out : " O dear ! how nice ;
do, papa, let us have a bacon for dinner to-
morrow!"

With Mr. H , an old friend and one

of the old school, I used to dine often, when
he used to gossip pleasantly about the past.

Recollections of Dublin Castle

He had met all sorts and conditions of people,
had a good memory, and used to tell his little
anecdotes pleasantly. Thus, when George IV.
came to Ireland, he went, of course, to stay at
Slane Castle — the house of his favourites, the
Conynghams — which was in somewhat of a
rack-rent condition. "All the old beds in the
county were begged and borrowed. Lord
Manners, the Chancellor, was so bitten by
fleas on the first night, that he departed next
morning in a rage." My friend went on to tell
that it was said the Marchioness got her son
made chamberlain or something of the kind
for the coronation, and the family pretended
that everything used was theirs of right ; they
seized on everything, even to the gold lace on
the servants' uniforms.

That fine old Irish style and title " the So-
and-so " is found occasionally, as in the case
of " The O'Grady," " The Knight of Glyn,"
and others. I remember John Bright, in one
of his orations, repeating something that had
been " told me by my old friend the Knight
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of Kerry," when the audience — fancying that
this was some burlesque nickname — roared
with laughter, and poor Bright had to explain
that he was quite serious. A Captain Bull,
quartered in Dublin, was asked to dinner by
" The O'Grady," and consulting a waggish
friend as to what this title meant, was told
that it was the invariable custom for every one
in Ireland to use the article, and that in his
answer it was expected that he should do the
same. Accordingly the captain sat down and
wrote that " 'The 'Bull had much pleasure," &c.
An Irish barrister of much ability and good
practice one day rather surprised his friends
by announcing that he was no longer " Mr.
Macdermott," but " The Macdermott," or
Prince of Coulavin. As a matter of pedi-
gree, this claim is held to be perfectly well
founded. Our friend was now always
addressed by the judges as "Macdermott"
— " I would put it to you, Macdermott,"
&c. His lady was " Madam Macder-
mott." I remember myself once meeting
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

at Arcachon a personage known as "The
White Knight."

In Dublin there was always " this side of
town " and " th'other side o' town."

To live " on th'other side of town," save
under certain circumstances, was to show that
you did not belong to the " smart set."
Every physician or barrister who wished to
" rise " was ever struggling to get away from
Mountjoy Square or Gardiner's Place, and to
cross Carlisle or O'Connell Bridge into the
Promised Land of Fitzwilliam Place or
Merrion Square.

The rage for dining in Dublin, that is, for
giving and going to dinner-parties, used to
be truly extraordinary. The fashion was all
for huge tables of twenty and thirty people.
All the official people — judges, bishops — enter-
tained on this vast scale. Half their in-
comes must have gone in these hospitalities.
Now, I am told, there is a complete change,
and there is but a very moderate display.
All was very well done, and the wines
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admirable — as most had fine cellars — and the
city was always celebrated for its claret.
Nearly always you met the same persons,
who passed on from house to house ; there
seemed to be a sort of strict debtor and
creditor account, and the entertained enter-
tained in their turn. The late Chief Justice
Monahan was hospitality itself, and un-
wearied in welcoming his friends. His at-
tractive daughters, on their side, kept up
the good reputation of the house. They
were an accomplished and sprightly family.

There were a number of recognised diners-
out on the establishment, as it were. Such

were Mr. and Mrs. G , who might dine

out every day of the week on the strength
of her marvellous male voice. Mr. and

Mrs. B S had no apparent claim,

save that they were good, solid folk, safe
and desirable, lived in " Muryon " Square,
and supported the Protestant Establishment.
There was an honourable or two about, who
were always sure of a meal and were received

Recollections of Dublin Castle

with gratitude after their names were an-
nounced. They gave a flavour to a party,
and impressed much.

Nothing is more common in Dublin society
than the general tone of ridicule and persiflage.
Everything, whether serious or solemn, is
turned into a joke, or jokes are made about
it — and very good jokes they are. The re-
sult of which is, that no one is able to form a
correct judgment or resolution about anything.
Hence that uncertainty of opinion, and ten-
dency to follow what is the pleasantest side*
which is so characteristic of the place. Every
one tries to agree with everybody else, on the
ground, perhaps, that nothing is worth dis-
puting about, unless " maybe " politics. But
a laugh or a joke sets everything straight.
The result of this spineless system, however, is a
certain absence of principle and a very marked
presence of insincerity. There are abundant
assurances, enthusiastic promises, which are
not meant, and are forgotten as soon as made ;
exaggerated praise and admiration — to be sue-
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ceeded by a cordial joining in the " asides "
of others not nearly so complimentary, and so
on. Everything, civil and religious, in this
way is belittled and made trivial. Clergy-
men joke about their callings, as though it
were quite an easy or funny thing to get to
heaven.

There was a pleasing virtuoso, Sir George
Hodson, who used to figure at these banquets,
and who knew much about pictures and art —
a rare thing in those times. I heard him
retail at a dinner-party how, recently making
excavations under his old house in the country,
he had unexpectedly broken into a cellar long
closed up, and there found some eighty dozen
of the finest old port. This he disposed of to
a local merchant at three guineas a dozen.
The local merchant sold it in London at a
guinea a bottle, and it was later being offered
by the Star and Garter at 255.

Among others of the habitual diners-out
were Lord Charlemont and his clever wife,
who acted extremely well — Lord James
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

Butler and his lady — Lady Rachel Butler,
sister of the Duke of Bedford, also an amateur
actress of repute : Betsy Baker was her
famous character. Sir Charles Domville, of
Santry, and others Jived in the far suburbs —
and very charming suburbs they were — with
fine old places, well wooded, antique houses,
all within a reasonable drive.

The Charlemonts were of interest to me at
least — for I don't think any one else cared
about it — from their ancestor, Dr. Johnson's
friend ; though to the general Dublin folk such
a recommendation would have seemed ludi-
crous. "Is it old Johnson ye'r talking about?
Oh, mighty interestin', no doubt ! " They lived
down at Marino on the sea shore at Clontarf,
a fine old house with ancient gardens — in
which was a classical temple, built by Cham-
bers, of Somerset House celebrity. How
many pleasant junketings we have had at
this place — driving down for a cheerful dinner
party ! Lady Charlemont was a really original
character — impulsive, ardent, " giving herself
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away " as it is called — from her love of frolic
and hearty enjoyment of her own merriment.
She loved to surround herself with notable
people, such as lively literary folk. Her lord
was rather a rough blunt personage, giving
out "from the shoulder" whatever he thought,
and having but little sympathy with her
erratic pleasantries. She had great accom-
plishments in the way of reciting and acting.
The pair lived a jocund, expensive life —
certainly beyond their means — after the then
fashion of Irish nobility. They had a good
old house in the north, but built a new
chateau on modern lines — which must have
been the last straw. They were also seen
much in London during the season, taking a
house in a fashionable quarter and entertaining
a good deal. Gradually the fine old objects of
art, such as the Hogarth pictures — painted
specially for Dr. Johnson's Earl — the notable
" Peg Woffington " — with much fine virtu,
furniture, &c., began to melt away. I re-
member an eminent Bond Street dealer being
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

on a visit at their house — a most gentlemanly
personage, treated quite as an honoured guest ;
no doubt he was combining business with
pleasure.

There was at the time a rather interesting
man who flitted about Dublin society — a sort
of half Frenchman — Count de Jarnac, who had
married into the Leinster family, and who later,
to the astonishment of his friends, blossomed
out as French Ambassador to London. He
was a pleasant, volatile creature, somewhat
like Thackeray's de Florae — amusing, vain,
elderly, but posing as quite a young man, and
no doubt thinking himself — as all Frenchmen
do — most attractive to the fair. He had,
under the name of "Sir Charles Rockingham,"
written some successful novels of fashion ;
but his chief hobby was the writing of
drawing-room plays. These he printed and
gave away. They were usually produced at
his own house, were often of a sentimental cast,
he himself taking the lover, and an attractive
young maiden being selected as a heroine. I
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recall a performance being given at a house in
Dublin — a ghostly drama called The Lost
One Restored — in which the heroine, im-
personated by Lady Charlemont, was a sort
of animated picture which, under the influence
of the gentle passion, came to life and stepped
down from its frame. There was much
difficulty in procuring this article — for it had
to be one of life size ; but the fair performer,
or the hostess, exerted her influence with an
important Mason, who had one of the full-
length portraits that adorned their hall taken
out of the frame, and carted away to the
house. The count was at his best as the
lover, arrayed in a tight-fitting black velvet
suit, with bows at his knees — a costume of no
particular age or country, but symbolical of
a sore heart. The pair declaimed interminably
in blank verse against each other. The too
youthful ambassador fell a victim to his rash-
ness; for walking home on a chilly night from
some party, too lightly clad, he caught a cold,
which carried him off in a few days.

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Recollections of Dublin Castle

There was a worthy, quaint old gentleman
named Bagot — well known, and who had
seen much of the world — who lived a few
miles from the city at a place called " Castle
Bagot." Of course it was a simple square
brick house. He and his wife had once given
shelter to Lady Lytton, or Bulwer-Lytton, in
her marital troubles — a hospitality which she
repaid by introducing the pair to the very life
in one of her novels, "The Bubble Family."
We all recognised his favourite phrases —
" Oh, the Algerines ! " "A regular Algerine,
sir ! " and " my Calamity," alluding to Mrs. B.
His gardens were laid out after the fanciful
rules of the "topiary art" — the flowers trained
to exhibit the words " Victoria," " Mel-
bourne," &c., in large parti-coloured letters.
He was full of stories, a vast number of which
1 heard from him during the week I spent at
" the Castle."

He told of the solemn Dr. M , who

had been appointed to a post in the Castle,

which he had to share, however, with a half-

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mad Englishman, who took a dislike to the
doctor, sometimes locking him up in rooms,
driving him into corners, and threatening
him. "At last," said my friend, gravely-
taking a pinch of snuff, " he made up his
mind to complain, and putting on his best

clothes, set off to see Lord ." I liked

that " putting on his best clothes." I forget
how it ended. I see the worthy man per-
petually flourishing a huge yellow bandana ;
most necessary, too, from the quantity of
snuff he used, and the all but permanent
drop on his nose.

He would describe some attractive lady
friend as " a divine human creature," and,
looking for some paper, would say : "I have
left it in Chaos here," or, " I know it's in
Chaos." Chaos was thus a useful generic
term for any place of disorder. " It's upstairs
in Mrs. B 's chaos." He described meet-
ing Lady Hamilton. He saw her at a
party just after Nelson's death, surrounded
by a bevy of men ; her red cheeks painted ;
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

she laughing boisterously, and generally un-
attractive.

His wife was an amiable lady who had once
been a beauty, and in consequence prattled
on always in a sort of infantine fashion. She
had her stories also. One was not bad, of a

certain old Major M , of G , one of

the good old school, but somewhat feather-
headed. I have dined with him at his country
house when he kept up the good old state —
richly liveried servants standing behind each
guest's chair. At one time there dined a

certain Mr. R , who was concerned in

Lord Cardigan's affair, well known as the
Black Bottle business. Now, it was the major's
custom to have set beside him a measure of
fine claret, to which he invited his guests, by
crying periodically, " Who'll have some of
my Black Bottle?" This would not do
with such a guest, so he was again and again
cautioned not to use the invitation. But in
the course of the dinner he began as usual,
"Who'll have some of my — ," then checked
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himself abruptly, warned by telegraphy. "Oh,
I know now," he said, " I forgot that I wasn't
to say anything about the Black Bottle — but
I stopped in time." After dinner he would
go carefully round the room, arranging the
high-backed chairs in order, sometimes cour-
teously asking a guest to move and allow him
to put his chair in line.

A figure on which my eyes always rested
with interest was Sir Thomas Staples, the
Father of the Irish Bar ; a spare, gentlemanly-
looking man, who had seen much in his long
life. He was the sole survivor of the Irish
House of Commons, and was sitting in it
when it was extinguished. He did not look
aged, nor did he feel aged, yet he was long
past eighty when I knew him. He was
Crown Counsel in all the criminal prosecutions
in the north, and discharged his duties, if not
very brilliantly, yet on the whole satisfactorily.
On the circuit, I have often walked with him
from town to town, distances of ten or twelve
miles. He took little part in society, but was
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

an enthusiastic musician, and devoted to his
'cello, on which he performed respectably.
At his pleasant seat, Lissane in Tyrone, he
and his excellent wife would get up a sort of
musical festival, inviting the vicars-choral
from Armagh, with a fiddle or two, when all
day — for they were insatiable — Mozart's and
Beethoven's symphonies were gone through
with an almost pitiless severity. Sir Thomas
would insist relentlessly on every " repeat,"
extracting almost a groan from the patient
pianist as she had to turn back a score of
pages and recommence. They were kind,
friendly people. She had been a prime beauty
in her day, as her full-length portrait at
Lissane attests ; a sprightly figure, in an
amber- coloured dress, dark hair and ringlets,
and tripping out of her canvas like one of
Romney's heroines. Old people used to talk
of the handsome Kitty Hawkins.

Another interesting personage whom I used
to meet in Dublin was the brother of Maria
Edgeworth, a placid old gentleman of Pick-
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wickian aspect. It was a curious feeling to
talk with one whose uncle had attended the
unfortunate Louis XVI. on the scaffold. I
was glad to hear from him his glowing account
of the first coming-out of the Waverley
Novels. As he said, it was a "perfectly gorgeous
time to look back to." There was a coterie
at the Bar who clubbed together to get the
novels from " Millikens' " library as they
came out, and they were read out aloud to
special parties. He remembered Lady Charles
Bury, the author of the amusing " Diary of
the Times of George IV." saying of Sir
Walter, when he confessed to the authorship,
" There is no more reason for believing him
now, than for disbelieving him when he denied
the authorship." Mr. Edgeworth was once at
a dinner at our house with Lady Staples and
her husband — and a most agreeable dinner it
was — when he talked a good deal about his
famous sister. " When I was quite a little
girl," said Lady Staples, " I came late to a
party, and was reproved ; on which Miss
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

Edgeworth came forward and comforted me :
* I once came late like you, and a lady said
to me, " Don't be afraid, little girl, for you
come from a country where punctuality is no
virtue." ' "

What do we not owe to that delightful
cheery writer — so full of ebullient spirits
and natural frolic — the author of " Harry
Lorrequer ! " Few works — save, perhaps,
"Pickwick" — have been so "enjoyed," in
their pink covers, as those of the irrepressible
Charles Lever. There was no formality, and
perhaps little probability ; the hero was a
sort of military Munchausen, but who cared
for that ? You were carried on by the
irresistible buoyancy of the thing. I recall a
delightful dinner given by his old friend,
Joseph Le Fanu, when this pleasant man and
myself were the only guests. Odd to say, I
found him a grave-looking man, without any
of the rollicking twinkle in his eye that one
might expect. As is well known, he was no
Irishman at all, yet was even " Hibernior "
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than the natives themselves. He was very
pleasant at this meeting, and told many
interesting things, but nothing specially racy.
At the same agreeable house I once met
Mrs. Norton, with her truly classical head
and raven locks, then a little silvered, but
still a fine woman as it is called. Her con-
versation had a strain of quiet and satirical
banter that was delightful. I knew two of
the three Sheridan sisters, and most attractive
women they were — Mrs. Norton and Lady
Dufferin, mother of the late Marquis — later
Lady GifFord, one of the sweetest women it
was possible to dream of. On the same
night, the daughters of the house — sparkling,
brilliant girls, with a strong dash of the
Sheridans — gave a little dramatic piece
written by themselves, which amused us all
" mightily." I came to know Mrs. Norton
very well — or I should say pretty well — and
used often to go and see her at her bijou
house close to Charles Street, Mayfair. She
had pleasant, despotic ways. Once hearing
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

that I was about to write something about
her loved Sheridans, she sent me a haughty
message, forbidding me to touch the subject.
I, of course, obeyed submissively.

" Joe Le Fanu's " house in Merrion Square
— by the way, his name was always pro-
nounced with the " a " short, but in London
it was more correctly voiced "Le Fanu" —
was a perfect gallery of Sheridan portraits.
Here was "old Sheridan" of the "Dic-
tionary," and Richard Brinsley, and the
spirituelle-lookmg Alicia Le Fanu, with
other dames of the family, rather plain, as
well as I recollect ; with a portrait of Swift
which Mr. Forster had engraved for his
" Life " of the great Dean. What a museum
of literary memories Dublin was then ! You
found close by St. Patrick's a dilapidated
alley of houses — Hoey's Court — one of
which was Swift's birthplace. Close by was
the quaint old Archbishop Marsh's library,
where the Dean used to read, and where
there are great folios marked profusely with
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his notes. Hoey's Court has long since
been levelled, and the library altered out of
recognition. St. Patrick's itself has been
restored by the well-known Guinness, and at
vast expense. The worthy brewer, it is said,
disdainfully rejected official architectural aid,
relying on his favourite builder for the
alterations — an arrangement, it need not be
said, disastrous enough as regards taste. The
sister cathedral was dealt with too architec-
turally, and the accomplished Street, being
given carte blanche, all but rebuilt it. This
Benjamin Lee Guinness, of James' Gate
Brewery — it is remarkable, by the way, that
it is the only native drink mentioned by
name in the " immortal Pickwick " — was
thought to be a sort of millionaire. He was
certainly wealthy, but he could not have
even dreamed of the dimensions to which
his business would expand. He was a stout,
short, modest man, placid, and I always
thought resembling very much one of the
Cheeryble brothers. His acts of benevo-
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lence were very much like theirs — unobtru-
sive and done by agencies. Could he have
for a moment imagined that the business
would swell and grow in so gigantic a
measure, or that his sons would have two
peerages and a baronetcy among them ? ft
is said that years ago the eldest of the twain
decided to free himself from the brewery,
and left the business with a modest income
of £60,000 or £70,000 a year. The second
and shrewder brother, who had a genuine
taste for business, held on, and devoted all
his labours and talents to working up the
concern. He connected himself with a
banking-house, and hence was brought out
that famous and most successful bit of
finance, the Guinness Brewery, Limited. The
amazing profits of the concern can hardly be
conceived, and any one who holds a large
number of the original shares may consider
himself lucky indeed. This fortunate second
brother, as I have heard from the late Lord
Morris, has made a capital of some fifteen or
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sixteen millions. Lord Iveagh must have
about half a million a year. Once, in Carlton
House Terrace, I was asking an old apple-
woman which was Lord 's, one of the

brothers, house. She did not know. A sort
of corner-man, who was near, interposed :
" Why, bless you," he said, " it's Guinness
he means. That's Guinness's house." He did

not care to recognise "Lord ."

It is extraordinary to look on, at St. Pat-
rick's— as indeed I did in company with John
Forster, his biographer — the tomb of Jona-
than Swift, the great Dean, and read the
terrible, nay diabolical, inscription : " Where
desperate rage shall no more rend his heart."
What a view this gives us of the man ! And
who that really felt that savage sentiment
would care to have it engraved upon his
tomb ? I once went down to Celbridge, where
I believe Vanessa lived, and from old people
there gathered up some curious traditions.
Once from curiosity I strayed into the lunatic
asylum which Swift founded, an old-world

Recollections of Dublin Castle

impressive place which was very much as it
was in his time. I had some difficulty in
getting out again, and had to produce
credentials before I could be released. With
a certain sorrow I say it, but we really have
no claim to Swift, or to many of the dis-
tinguished so-called Irishmen.

The name of Lord Brougham takes me
back over a long stretch of years. I re-
member this indefatigable veteran coming to
Dublin in charge of that hobby of his the
Social Science Congress, now extinct, but
which seemed to be a perpetual glorification
of this somewhat vain veteran. Their open-
ing meeting was held in the huge round
ball-room at the back of the Mansion House,
a structure which was " run up " in six
weeks for the festivities of George IV.'s
visit. It was curious to look on this strange,
gnarled face, and the odd figure, and think
of the Queen's trial and other exciting
matters in which he had been concerned.
When an elderly gentleman with a star and
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a markedly hooked nose came forward to
speak, and was announced as the Duke of
Wellington, a shout of welcome arose, and
the enthusiasm was so strong that I verily
believe many fancied that this may have
been the great duke himself. The old chair-
man was exceedingly despotic and intemper-
ate, and later on gave poor Blanchard Jerrold,
the secretary, a forcible "jobation" for his
carelessness in omitting to write to some
notable person. But every one had to sub-
mit to his humours, and he did practically
what he liked. This Duke of Wellington,
at one time, took a great fancy to the
Lyceum Theatre and its gifted manager, and
I have often seen him there ensconced in a
private box. He had, however, the most
appalling bronchitis that could he imagined,
excelling even that permanent one of our
late friend Palgrave Simpson. The fits
used perversely to come on in the midst of
some solemn discourse, delivered by the great
Henry in his most slow and measured style.

Recollections of Dublin Castle

The spasms seemed uncontrollable, and as
sonorous as uncontrollable. The impatient
gods would call out rudely, " Shut up ! "
" Turn him out ! " But it went on worse and
worse, till even the amiable Henry seemed put
out by his noble patron ; then the din of
protest increased, until at last the poor man
was led out by his companion. Poor Pal-
grave had more discretion. He had trained
his cough to lie slumbering ; but at times,
in the middle of an act, it would burst out
mutinously, and the poor sufferer was seen
flying to the door.

The dignitaries of the various religions
were of course always prominent person-
ages in Dublin. Archbishops Whately and
Trench were notable figures enough ; so were
Archbishop Murray and Cardinal Cullen.
Often to be seen coming out of the large
mansion in Harcourt Street, was the Dean of
St. Patrick's, Pakenham, brother-in-law of
the great Duke of Wellington. I recall the
Vicar of Dundalk, who occasionally came to
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Dublin, and was Dr. Thackeray, uncle, I
think, of the author of " Vanity Fair," who
describes a visit to his relation at his Irish
town. Dr. Thackeray was popular with all
classes in his cure, and they subscribed to
have his portrait done. The engraving
shows him as a tall, burly man in Hessian
boots.

It used to be said that there was but one
High Churchman or Ritualist in Ireland,
though later there was another of a rather
intrepid sort — a vicar of a certain church at
the end of Mount Street, Canon Smith.
The other was the excellent Maturin, son, I
believe, of the dramatist, and vicar of a poor
charge out in a picturesque suburb, Grange-
Gorman, where he struggled manfully, not
only with bigoted foes, but against — as a
poor cotter said — an overpowering family of
some ten children. Some of these have
made a name, and are well known as popu-
lar and advanced clerics. One is a Catholic
priest. Many of us will remember that

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highly smooth and polished divine — Dean
Tighe — Dean of the Chapel Royal, who lived
in and sniffed up the Castle atmosphere for
many a year. There was another courtly dean
— Browne — with pleasing daughters who
married well, one just escaping being Duchess
of Portland, though her son became duke.
Her husband was the pleasant, bluff, honest,
and good-natured Colonel Bentinck, later
General, universally popular ; I hear his short
barking tones now ; he was proud of his
handsome wife. Dean Tighe was, of course,
of the Woodstock Tighes, the family of the
once admired poetess. He looked a true
ecclesiastical courtier. He was succeeded by
Dean Graves, later Bishop of Limerick, a
truly amiable man, and highly popular with
all creeds. The handsome deaness was a
very clever woman, and the mother of clever
sons, one of whom is editor of the Spectator,
another the author of many lively songs,
notably of "Father O'Flynn;" another a
playwright. Bishop Graves was a deeply
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read scholar, and a great authority on hiero-
glyphics.

The college dons were all — in those days,
at least — of the old-fashioned type, slow
moving and wrapped up in their own import-
ance, an extraordinary contrast to the smart,
up-to-date Fellows of our time. One —
Doctor Carson — was esteemed to have one of
the finest postage-stamp collections in the
world. There was old Provost Sadleir and
worthy Doctor Todd, who might be taken for a
little rotund priest, with his well " turned "
little legs. Ingram, an amiable man, was also
of mark, but was invariably mentioned as
associated, I fancy to his annoyance, with the
notorious song of " Who fears to speak of

ninety-eight." Dr. L was a rough

personage, of rather uncouth manners. In
his early days he was said, perhaps untruth-
fully, to be somewhat economical of the
truth. Once at the Fellows' table he was
telling some stories of his schoolmaster. " He
birched me, sir, insisting that I had told a
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falsehood. It was most unjust, for 'twas
really the truth." "Anyhow," said a sarcastic
friend, " the birching cured you of that"

As a boy I recall the dignified and saintly
Dr. Murray, the Catholic Archbishop, an ideal
prelate, respected by all. He was, perhaps,
too pliant and easy-going ; his face was truly
mild and benevolent. His dean, Dr. Meyler,
a priest of the old school — the very old
school — was installed at Westland Row.

" Paul Cullen," as he was familiarly called
by even the more orthodox of his flock, was
a much more remarkable and liberal-minded
prelate than he has been supposed to be.
There was a pleasing naive simplicity about
him — something after the pattern of Gold-
smith, whom in face he strongly resembled.
I always liked him for his pleasant confession
made in open court : " I was at a Quaker
school when a boy, and I have always got on
with the Friends, who have been very kind to
me."

The ordinary Catholics were altogether
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looked down upon by the High Protestant
set. A few of them were just recognised as
worthy persons — in spite of their faults — who
deserved to be encouraged, but this was all
in the way of patronage. Otherwise the
barriers were stoutly guarded. The Catholics
mostly lived near to each other "on the other
side of town," saving the Catholic doctor, who
was glad to get into Merrion Square if he could.
The local fanaticism of the religious
factions passed belief. There were " missions
to the Roman Catholics," as though they
were heathens — while these latter asserted
that every convert was purchased with gold
subscribed in England. A perfect " red
rag " was the absurdly named " Bird's Nest "
for the rescuing of " Romish " infants, and
bringing them up in the little Protestant nest.
They were said to be regularly bought from
their parents. There were periodical battles
in the law courts over these infants. The
Bird's Nest figured largely in the pastorals of
the bishops.

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Recollections of Dublin Castle

It was astonishing how we all got through
the agitated times of the Land League and
"the Invincibles," when all was terror and
confusion, and conspirators going about armed
to the teeth. I recall one day when I was
walking down the street that led to Westland
Row, and was puzzled at meeting ill-looking
fellows lounging in pairs at intervals all
along the street. The whole way was dotted
with these pickets. Going into a shop to
buy a paper I heard enigmatical talk going
on, such as " It's been dark enough all these
days," "Ay, maybe, but the sun's to come
out presently." We later learned that these
people were waiting for Mr. Forster,who was
expected at the railway. The plan was to
attack his carriage in the open street and
murder him. He had been warned, and did
not come. As this was not long before the
Phoenix Park outrage, they were, no doubt,
the same conspirators.

About the same time I went out to the
Secretary's lodge in the Park to see some one
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who was there, and found the avenues,
bushes, &c., all beset by police. There was
a visible agitation when I rang the bell, and a
shrunken, ghastly face looked suspiciously.
This was the hapless Trevelyan, whose life
was said to have been a burden to him, as
he must have been haunted by a dread of
assassination. His hair palpably became
whiter. The Dublin police, since those dis-
astrous times, to the present hour, I believe,
always carry cutlasses during the night hours.
The unfortunate Tom Burke was a well-
known character, with much of that assertive
and superior English tone which was common
enough in Dublin. He talked fluently
enough, and had a flourishing way with him.
Poor soul ! That terrible fate was about the
last thing he could have dreamed of, and
seemed about the least appropriate, for he
was a harmless creature enough.

There is one almost romantic story which
is worth recalling. There was living in the
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

city a clergyman who held a small office in
one of the cathedrals — a quiet, amiable man,
with a family of four children. He was
unobtrusive and unaspiring, and had one
delight, which was his joy and comfort in his
struggles — his violin and the practice of music,
to which he was devoted. He was quite
content and happy even in his modest con-
dition, and was much liked by every one for
his simple, old-world manners. He often
came to our house, bringing with him his
darling riddle, when he played Haydn or
Mozart, his playing being like his nature,
quiet and unassuming.

After many years, suddenly came news
that our modest parson was now possessor of
a great fortune, having succeeded to an old
lord in the north whose name even he did
not bear. It was a noble estate, said to be
worth about ^30,000 a year. Here was a
change indeed for the modest family. But
there was no change in them. They were
very anxious to make their friends share in
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their good fortune, which, however, really
seemed almost an embarrassment to these
good people.

Presently, however, came a sad stroke.
His excellent wife died. By-and-by we
heard that our clergyman had married again,
to one of his own connection, who appeared to
have his same retiring ways, but presently
was shown to have a more aspiring nature,
and one more suited to her situation. Am-
bition was in the air. There were now
house-parties and gay doings. An imposing
addition was made, and half a new castle
built. It was indeed a noble place, upon a
historic lake. I often found myself there
enjoying their pleasant hospitality. Other
great mansions fringed the lake, and their
owners would come across in a boat. By-
and-by there was the mansion in town and
an assault upon London society, which was
successfully carried out ; for the chatelaine
had gifts in this way, and knew how to gratify
her very legitimate ambition. There were
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

balls and concerts and dinner-parties, but
through all this old Irish friends were never
forgotten. Soon followed the peerage, and
our old friend now became " the Rev. Lord

," who was often found in churches and

religious meetings in company with the Lord
Bishop and other dignitaries. This, I believe,
was the only part of the business that gave
him real pleasure. There was something
almost pathetic in seeing this simple being
thus engulfed in the whirlpool of gaieties,
struggling ineffectually, but enduring all
most patiently. I am sure he would have
preferred his old haunts and his old fiddle.
Music, however, was still his comfort. He
had built a great concert hall, attached to his
castle, which he inaugurated with a sort of
festival for which a cantata was specially
written. Nor had he lost his old simplicity ;
often after dinner he and his sons would
strike up some old " catch," such as " Call
George again," or " Glorious Apollo," or
even our old friend the "Non nobis, Domine."
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This rather surprised some of the London
swells. In due time this worthy man passed
away, much to the regret of us all.

It is often now an illustration of the diffi-
culties of success, in London society, to find,
at some party given by Irish people, that you
might just as well be at a Dublin party. For,
somehow, the same people seem to have been
transferred thither. It is amusing to hear
the native voices, and the betraying question :
" When did you come over ? I crossed the
day before yesterday." " I am goin' back
to-morrow." No wonder some of our
countrymen at home are sarcastic. " So this
is what you call London life, and gettin' into
English society; and so you have to fall
back upon poor old Dublin after all." This is
a favourite and most effective sneering tone,
good humoured apparently, but malin. And
he will go on repeating : " Fancy, now,
coming all the way to London only to meet
the Irish ! "

Indeed, I wish I had the skill to analyse
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

this motley Irish society — the plainly acid
mixture of " chaff," sneers, loud laughter,
secret chuckling, ironical praises, and, above
all, " good stories " about so-and-so.

Nowhere is there such genuine and yet so
comically odd a veneration for persons sup-
posed to have money. Such are addressed in
quite a reverential way, and spoken of in
awe-stricken fashion. It was often amusing
to note the absurd exaggeration of the
measure and value of worldly emoluments in
the case of smaller folk. I have heard talk
something like this : " What's become of
Jack So-and-so ? " " Didn't you hear ? Oh,
my boy, he's fallen on his legs as usual ; gone
and married an heiress." "You don't tell
tell me so!" "Yes, with £5000, not a
penny less. There's for you ! " There
were various superannuated spinsters who
gave an occasional dinner or party, or
kept a carriage, and were therefore con-
sidered " 'normously rich " ; even ordinary
merchants, making four or five thousand a
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year, were spoken of as " Why, he's a perfect
milyniair, sir ! "

Our good city — without offence be it
spoken — is a begging city. Indeed, every
native of the country begs more or less —
patriots, barristers, younger sons. Going to
chapel of a Sunday morning, I recall the lines
of old crones seated on the steps with hands
outstretched and crooning something — all for-
bidden by police, law, &c.,but who minds that ?
Occasionally, in some retired street in London,
you hear a pattering behind you, then a low
growling voice, to the effect that the speaker
or growler is " starvin' wid de hunger," or
" hasn't bruk his fast since last night." This
appeal is made surreptitiously and in a guilty
way. Of course, you never hear the English
or Scotch accent behind you. Are they too
proud to beg ?

In Dublin every one looks for a place,

and of course begs for it — a "place in

the courts" — commissionerships, assistant

barristers, and so on. When a post of the

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latter kind becomes vacant, the crush and
clamour is frightful ; every lever is set to
work. I believe every barrister in practice,
almost without exception, sends in his claim.
The most toothsome and most coveted
offices are the snug commissionerships of
£1000 to ,£1200 a year, such as that of the
Board of Works, which the facetious Will
Le Fanu enjoyed. Most functionaries have
three or four sons, whom it is contrived
somehow to get " into the courts," or some
public place. The butlers or footmen even
are ambitious, and look to " an official

place " (" Ah, mistress , wouldn't ye just

get me a place undher governmint ? "), and
have even before their eyes the hope of
becoming " crier in the court," or porter,
and intrigue for it like their betters. A
clever managing lady that I wot of had a
butler who had this ambition, and she got
him a nomination for "somethin' under
governmint" (much preferred to something
"agin the governmint"). There was this
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drawback — that he had to pass an examina-
tion. He was a stolid, rather stupid being
with a family. His mistress, who was a
woman of resource, went to call on the
examiner, " talked him over," as it is called,
interested him in the case, and somehow —
I know not how — the fellow, though an
ignoramus, was actually "passed" somehow,
and pushed into the place ! This is a fact ;
and a very clever woman she was. I re-
member well how she actually " talked " the
solicitor of the great Law Life Assurance
out of his claim for costs — a prodigious
feat.

The extraordinary shape this eleemosynary
system takes is astonishing. An official dies,
leaving, of course, his family in a poor way.
A subscription is instantly got up, say, by

the excellent Sir F B and a few

more. A couple of thousand is collected
and given to the widow. Another gets
embarrassed — another subscription. A more
extraordinary instance even — a popular and
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

humorous divine, whom everybody liked,
was, it was given out in vulgar phrase,
" hard up." True, this had come from
entertaining, dinners, &c. ; but he was such
a good fellow. Some three or four thousand
pounds were collected and presented to him
to indemnify him. All this really comes
from weakness of fibre ; no one has the
courage to refuse when he is told that " so-
and-so" and others have put down their
names. Everybody is smiling and laughing
and making a joke of the business all the
time.

It was always " a grand thing " to go to
London. Much was always made of it by
advertisement some days before, and every
one tried to get what profit he could out of it.
" I am goin' over to London to-night " was
something to say. A propos, one of the most
amusing spectacles I ever saw in the course of
my railway travelling was on one evening
when I was " going across," and an immense
crowd, for some purpose or another, were
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gathered at the booking office. The scene
was indescribable — the clerk was hopelessly
and helplessly drunk. A score of people
were pressing him — " Where's my money ?
Where's my ticket ? You rascal, you have
given me no change." The unhappy man,
quite bemused, must have given wrong tickets,
wrong money ; but still, with that wonderful
luck that attends the drunkard, he got through
somehow, and I doubt if anybody cared to
make complaint.

But, above all, it is incumbent on you to let
friends, and those whom it might concern, know
by documentary proof that you have been to
London. You had to write your name on a
sheet of paper, left for the purpose on the
saloon table, so that next morning it could be
read in the newspapers that " Mr. and Mrs.
Murphy and the Misses Murphy ' crossed
over ' — the correct phrase — by the mail boat
from Kingstown." Mark ye that ! To have
" crossed over by the North Wall " is some-
thing less dignified. Of course, nobody cares
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to know all this, but it is read all the same
— for a purpose — with much speculation :
" Now, what on earth takes th' O'Dowds to
London, and where the divil did he get the
money ? "

The journey, whether by night or day, has
always a certain gaiety and variety. In the
morning there is gay Kingstown Harbour :
the bay seems bright and inviting, and the
boats are very fine. Coming in to Holyhead
is a stirring scene, with the long trains drawn
up and waiting — the road up to London
has always a sort of novelty even for those
most familiar with it, owing to the change
from the local surroundingsof one's nativeland,
which is always striking enough. It almost
seems like entering into another kingdom.
At night there is the pleasant voyage across, and
the midnight scene at Holyhead, with the
long train of sleeping-cars waiting ; and wel-
come always that sudden waking up at early
dawn with the pleasant surprise of rolling into
Willesden, and the inspiring cry of "Tickets ! "
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London ! It seems like the man in the
" Arabian Nights," who had dipped his head
into the tub of water and drew it out in-
stantly ; but who in the interval had loved
and married and had children grown-up, and
was being ordered for execution.

Once the viaduct on the pretty Welsh
line had been swept away by the sea and the
traffic completely interrupted ; when we had
quite a day of adventure. When we came to
the scene of the disaster, we found a vast
assemblage of carriages, waggonettes, etc.,
every vehicle in the district being pressed
into the service. All the baggage was thrown
upon the grass in confusion, to wait the carts,
and we were told we were not likely to see
our property again for some days. It was a
lovely sunshiny time, and we had an en-
chanting drive over the Welsh hills, to reach
the other side of the broken bridge. It
seemed like a picnic ; every one was in such
spirits. But there was a delay of some hours,
with the result that it was midnight when we
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came rolling into the vast station at Birming-
ham. Then came a headlong flight to town,
which was reached at two o'clock in the
morning.

What a contrast between the old style in
which the journey used to be made when I
was a boy, and the present system ! We then
went to Liverpool by fine and powerful
steamers, such as was the good old Iron Duke,
which saw many vicissitudes, descending at
last to carrying cattle, etc., after it had lost
its nobler service. This departed about seven
o'clock in the evening — we went down to
Kingstown by train, and there the mail bags
— how well I remember it ! — were tossed into
a little hand-cart, which they barely filled —
not more than thirty, I should say — and
were trundled down the pier to where a
" flare " was blazing at the gangway of the
Iron Duke. The passage was about ten
hours ; on landing you were driven to the
Adelphi or some other hotel — breakfasted,
and got up to London by three or four o'clock.
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If you caught the six o'clock express you
might arrive at noon. There were also little
midges of vessels that ran over to Holyhead,
starting at eleven at night to catch the morn-
ing coach to Chester. Now there are large
and powerful liners, making the passage -in
three hours, and going over twice in the day.
At the evening service you see the through
trains from the north, the west, and the south
all arriving seriatim on the packet pier, each
laden with passengers and baggage. I suppose
there are half a dozen vans of the latter as
compared with the little old hand-cart which
I recall. There are besides the huge baskets
of the parcel post which are sent anyhow and
everyhow, by any train and packet. In
later times there was a mid-day boat, which
reached Holyhead about six or seven o'clock.
The rest of the night was spent on the
railway, and London was gained about five
o'clock A.M. — all most inconvenient and un-
comfortable.

The Kingstown railway was one of the first
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

opened in the kingdom, and one of my earliest
child's recollections is the being taken down
upon the line, then just inaugurated and
thought a wonder. The primitive form of
guard's brake then used dwells in my memory.
It was a sort of " hand lever " which worked
through a chain on the wheel. I see the poor
guard struggling with this instrument, often
ineffectually. Later came that curious line
to Dalkey — the atmospheric railway — worked
by exhausted air, through an iron tube. I re-
call, too, the primitive engines — the cylinders
outside, and fixed on the top of the boiler
close to the chimney. They jumped up and
down with an alternate motion. I am
always persuaded — it may be a pleasing
delusion — that I once made a voyage in one
of the first of the primitive steamers. This is
an interesting speculation, but it is so far
away that I cannot be quite certain about it.
It was somewhere about the year 1838, and
our family, seeing that a vessel was to sail
from Kingstown to Havre, where we had
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relations, determined to seize the opportunity
for making a visit to that cheerful French
city. The name of the steamer was, as I
believe, the William Fawcett, and if this be
so, she was one of the first steamers that
belonged to the P. and O. company and
figures in its collection of pictures. We
had nearly a week's voyage in this rickety
tub to Havre. Not long ago I was invited
by Sir Thomas Sutherland, the chairman of
the great P. and O. Company, to take a trial
trip of a great new steamer, with a large
company on board, on a week's voyage — and a
most jocund expedition it was. What an
amazing change from the William Fawcett —
I suppose not more that 400 tons — to the
great P. & O. steamer of some fifteen or
sixteen thousand.

How delightful and even romantic were
these journeys in those far-off days ! Now
the London and North-western, which we
Irish look upon as our own altogether,
and have a sort of affection for, have a
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regular fleet of steamers between the familiar
"North Wall" and Holyhead, where the
Company have taken possession of the whole
town and excavated an enormous harbour. I
used almost to venerate the L. & N.-W. R. Co.
Dublin owes an enormous deal to its spirited
exertions.

Dublin has somewhat the air of a foreign
city — Sackville Street notably ; and its public
buildings are held to have much architectural
merit. The old Parliament Houses — a highly
original construction — the Custom House,
Exchange, have been admired, but these are the
work of an Englishman. There are a number
of statues, not worse in their art than those of
London. In front of Trinity College is a
very suggestive group — Burke and Goldsmith
by Foley, Grattan, and Moore. In Sackville
Street is an enormous testimonial to O'Connell
which has not room to display itself, and also
a monk in his robe, of decidedly weak ex-
ecution. Close to the bridge is a rather spirited
image of Smith O'Brien — his arms folded

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patriotically. In the Royal Exchange is a
noble statue of Grattan by Chantry, anent
which the sculptor used to relate a rather
quaint incident. He was waited on by a
committee, who came over to report upon his
work. "Now, see here, Mr. Chanthrey," said a
member of the deputation, " there's just this
wan objection. Where's the Constitution ? "
" What Constitution, sir ? " " Why, sor, the
R-r-ock of the Constitution, to be sure.
Isn't he to be standin' on it ? " The be-
wildered sculptor tried to show that it was
beyond the limits of his art to convey an
idea of " the Constitution," though he might
furnish a rock ; but the deputation were
not satisfied, and withdrew with but a poor
opinion of his powers.

The names of the Dublin streets have a
sort of expressive or dramatic effect : Dame
Street, Great Britain Street, Bachelors' Walk,
Pickwick Lane (even), D'Olier Street, Great
Brunswick Street, Mary Street, and Henry
Street. It is, however, gall and wormwood to

Recollections of Dublin Castle

Nationalists that all the leading streets should
bear the names of distinguished Englishmen :
Essex Bridge, and Capel Street leading to it,
Grafton Street, Rutland Square, Sackville
Street, Westmoreland Street, and so on.
When the new Carlisle Bridge was finished,
a battle long raged between the factions as to
what name it was to bear. The patriots
desired " O'Connell Bridge," though he was
not then in much favour. This was resisted,
and at last an odd sort of compromise was
agreed to ; to wit, that it was practically to
bear both names. This is contrived by an
ambiguously worded inscription on the bridge.
During the discussion a local newspaper inci-
dentally mentioned that the bridge divided
the north side of the city from the south !
The same dispute raged as to Sackville Street
— " widest street in Europe, sir " — the name
of which must be changed to O'Connell Street.
All the traders and business folk objected.
The same thing went on, and does go on, in
Paris. I believe, at the present moment,

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the old and the new name are both in equal
vogue, i.e., you are sure to be driven to the
right place under either denomination. A
regularly recurring battle is waged as to
" Nelson's Pillar," as it is quite correctly
styled by the natives — a lofty column
which the patriots have again and again
striven to have removed. Fortunately, the
Government have some control in the matter.
There is really a genuine eagerness to have
the hero — hateful because he brought so
much glory to England — carted away. At
the same time, one wonders how he came to
Sackville Street.

Many years ago there was a characteristic
display of party faction in connection with a
statue, which had a deplorable result for the
interests of art — to wit, a monument to
commemorate that fine old soldier, Lord
Gough. A large sum of money had been
collected, and the commission had been given
to the excellent Irish sculptor Foley. The
result was a very imposing and spirited
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

equestrian statue — the old warrior being pre-
sented on a rearing steed bare-headed and
turning to Jook back as if to encourage his
followers. The effect was really fine and
" dashing." Odd to say, the horse was already
doing duty out in India and carrying Lord
Hardinge — a replica of the animal being
fashioned for Lord Gough. This, however,
did not much matter. But, unluckily,
the Gough family were popularly held to
belong to " the English Garrison " and to
be enemies of ould Ireland, though they were
really patriotic enough, and had brought much
honour to their conntry. Accordingly the
City Fathers, who had the allotting of a site,
though they did not venture to refuse one,
ingeniously contrived that there should be
only one spot available, in a sort of lane or
cul-de-sac^ where the whole effect of the monu-
ment would have been lost. This, of course,
was a mere pretext — but nothing could make
them change their purpose. The indignant
committee thought at first of setting the statue
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up in London, where it would have been heartily
welcomed as an ornament, but at last decided
to place it in the Phoenix Park — a good mile
or so away from the city, and where no one
can see it, unless he take a long walk or drive
out for the purpose.

The name of this Gough family suggests
that extraordinary affair of the wild baronet,
Sir John Garden, and Miss Arbuthnot — who
was sister of the then Lady Gough. This
extraordinary being persecuted her for a long
time with his unwelcome attentions, at all
times and all places, until life became a burden
to her, and the law interfered. Then came a
daring attempt at abduction — which, I believe,
failed. It was a regular mediaeval wild Irish
romance.

There used to be a mad B , in good

circumstances, whose friends allowed him to go
at large — to the public annoyance. He attended
every kind of performance — including the
courts, which he disturbed by his addresses to
judges, etc. I saw him once drive up to
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

Fitzwilliam Square in his mail phaeton,
where he was refused admittance to his great
indignation — police had to be called. What

became of B I know not.

And oh ! for the Dublin cabs, such ram-
shackle tattered boxes as they used to be, at
least. It was Foote, I think, who said that
he never knew what the English beggars did
with their cast-off clothes till he saw the Irish
ones ; he would certainly have made the
same discovery as to the worn-out London
cabs. I well recall the time when the first
two or three were followed as curios. For
then the " covered cars " were in vogue.
These grotesque things were almost incon-
ceivable, literally a square black box on two
wheels. Many a time we went to parties
in these black boxes, the ladies in full ball
dresses. As the door was at the back, the
driver, to deliver his charge, would turn his
horse at right angles to the pavement — as is
done with the coal carts — and the fare, or fairs,
were discharged like flour sacks. Nothing
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but praise, however, can be given to the out-
side car — a delightful form of conveyance,
healthful and enjoyable. As to private
carriages, you could almost count them, and
could point out with certainty Mrs. So-
and-so's.

There is no place where you will be so
certain to find something oddly Gilbertian as
in Dublin, and this may be noted and accepted
as one of the proper incidents of its life.
Thus, there is at the end of Sackville Street
a very imposing institution, known and spoken
of tout bonnement as "the Lyin'-in Hospital."
These words were always spoken out with
antique simplicity. A fair one might be
seeking some place close to " Great Britain
Street," when our driver would reply, "Shure
I know it well, miss, just by the Lyin'-in
Hospital." Close to this meritorious insti-
tution are the Rotunda and Rotunda Gardens,
always in occupation for balls, pony races,
dioramas, bazaars. I am almost certain I
have seen fireworks and an " eruption of
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

Mount Vesuvius " in these gardens, on which
the windows of our Lying-in HospitaF look.
There is something bizarre in all this : the
poor woman in a critical way, then an eruption
from the crater of the burning mountain,
then the band striking up, the mob applaud-
ing; while the poor soul is adding another
item to the population. The comicality is in
the notion of a healing-place drawing its sup-
port from what must be actively perilous to its
inmates. This Rotunda, known to all wan-
dering exhibitors, is really a very beautiful, if
old-fashioned, set of rooms. The " Round
Room," with its rococo stucco work, is a
truly elegant apartment, as is the " Pillar
Room." How many a jocund dance we have
enjoyed there !

The Dublin car and cab fares are, or were,
ridiculously low. It is certainly easy to make
complaint of the tattered state of the vehicles ;
but the driver can hardly make both ends
meet, or the sides of the rents in his coat
meet, on sixpence for a " set down !" Think
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of that, London grumblers and summoners
of cabmen! Some "fares," utterly without
bowels, will take the unlucky man across
from one end of the city to the other for this
wretched fee. Most folk are more liberal,
and give the sixpence for a short distance only
— a couple of streets or so.

The experienced car-engager will always,
before mounting, cast a wary eye at that
important part, the step, to which he must
trust his whole weight. A friend noted that
the step seemed loose ; the carman dismissed
the objection — " Ah, shure, it's too sthrong it
is — what are you afraid of ? " and he shook
it: when it suddenly came off in his hand.
In reply to the angry " fare," he said :
" Well ! shure, didn't I save you from a
broken leg anyhow ? " But endless are the
stories of this cheerful and good-humoured
race of beings — not a day but some quip
of this kind was being retailed. There is
always something almost pathetic in the sight
of a lowly funeral — a train of cars — three
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

mourners a side — six in all — several of the
six carrying babies — and all trailing along
with a sort of grotesque solemnity.

At one time there suddenly arrived in
Dublin an extraordinary company of London
dealers, who came to carry off all that was
valuable. It was a regular 'Bande noire. The
original Bande noire appeared in France after
1830, bought up old chateaux for the purpose
of dismantling them, and sold the materials
piece-meal. Here, for a chariot they would give
ten pounds — for an old carriage twenty. These
were immediately pulled to pieces and dis-
sected. The wheels were sent away and used
for cabs. Another part of the system was
the despoiling of old houses, mansions, &c.
The impecunious owners were not able to
resist the temptation of ready cash offered for
chimney-pieces, pictures, and furniture. It was
astonishing the quantity of spoil these people
carried off. The business was regularly
organised.

By the way, I remember as a boy, numbers

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of our friends who kept their chariots — a
rather stately form of equipage — which drove
by, the coachman sitting on his hammer-cloth,
footman behind with his sloped cane. And
what a noisy rat-tat he would give, notifying
to all concerned that here was carriage com-
pany ! Then there was the letting down the
steps with a clatter and bang, and the fair
tenant helped out. On going away, how
often used I to admire the nimble servitor
running after, as the carriage moved on, and
airily stepping up behind. Sedan chairs ? Ay !
How well I remember a stout lady of title
coming to our house in one ! She was borne
into the hall by two strong chairmen, who
slipped out their poles, rearing them on high
like masts, one opening the " front door,"
the other lifting the top. She protested she
heard one say to his fellow, " Ah, Pat, I can't
sthand up — my back is bruck wid her entirely."
It was when returning home after a foreign
tour that the contrast struck one. Coming
to London from gay, brilliant Paris, where

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Recollections of Dublin Castle

every street is a scene in a play ; it was a
shock to see the commonplace, prosaic London
— dingy without glitter or colour — the first
thing noted being the porters in their shabby,
dirty clothes — so different from the glit-
tering town. But what was it to the
change from London to Dublin ? Nothing
could give an idea of the contrast — dirt and
decay everwhere, railway porters in rags,
houses lying unrepaired for years, hall doors
and windows awry. It was a common thing to
see grass growing on hall door steps. For
these steps were short blocks of granite put
together, which by-and-by sank and be-
came uneven. In Dublin the notion of the
cook or housemaid washing the steps would
produce a rebellion. Such a thing was not
dreamed of. The curious thing is, we were
all utterly unconscious of this appearance of
dilapidation. It is only, as I have said, on
returning from London that it struck us.
Convenient " shifts " are often employed.
In one house I remember a visitor was

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thrown on the floor — having sat down on a
chair or sofa, whose fourth leg, being broken
and gone, was supplied by a pile of books !
Another went down, exactly like the people in
the diverting piece Our Flat., to the bottom
of a sort of box made to simulate an otto-
man.

Most people have heard of the Fifteen
Acres — a stretch of ground in the Phoenix
Park, which, as might be expected, contains
many times more than that amount, warrant-
ing the attorney in adding — "be the same more
or less." It was the regular duelling-ground.
I suppose hundreds of encounters must have
" come off" there ; and what splendid reviews
of troops used we to witness there ! There
was not a gala or birthday that was not
celebrated by this popular form of diversion.
And how it was enjoyed ! The whole town
crowded out in carriages or cars to witness the
sham battle, review, or whatever it was called.
No one now sees a review in London or else-
where. And yet it was a cheap and 'simple

Recollections of Dublin Castle

way of entertaining the masses. Boz has
described in his account of the sham battle in
Pickwick exactly all that we used to see.

The hotels used to be a very weak place in
the Dublin economy. Who will forget the
ramshackle Shelburne in Stephen's Green
— a vast number of old ruinous houses, stuck
together somehow ! Thackeray has sketched
the window held open by a poker. Then
there was the good old and quiet Morrison's,
described in one of Lever's tales, lately closed
and offered for sale. Gresham's too, in Sack-
ville Street. Now the Shelburne has become
a very fine place, with foreign waiters, table-
d'hote breakfast, programmes and music, etc.
— things undreamed of some years ago. After
a recent visit I can declare that I never
was in a better hotel. It was at the Shelburne
that Boz and his henchman Dolby put up.
In the front room with the bow window, I
dined with him, and heard him give the place
great praise.

Oftentimes I think of the Dolphin Tavern ;
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I know net why, but it touches a chord. The
Dolphin was an old-fashioned tavern out of
Capel Street, celebrated for its fine old
" October ale," which, as an old uncle of
mine used to say, was equal to " meat, drink,
and clothes." It was really noble stuff.
Flanigan of The Dolphin used to tell his
patrons with some pride how once the great
Bass firm had sent a quantity of ale to Dublin
which had all " spoiled " and had to be re-
placed. In their embarrassment they appealed
to the faithful Flanigan, whose cellars were
stored with their barrels, and who generously
came to their rescue and surrendered all his
stock. Flanigan's was the regular lunching-
place of the Bar. It was about a quarter of
an hour's walk from the Four Courts. I
have had a good experience of lunching-bars,
but I have never tasted anything really better
than the things Flanigan set before you. He
had a speciality of lobster sandwiches, ad-
mirably dressed and flavoured, and kept
simmering hot on a gas stove. The only
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

place comparable to Flanigan's was Mrs.
Linden's in Belfast. In London we have no
idea of such a lunching-place as was hers. It
was perfectly astounding. You entered a
cavernous sort of tenement and saw stretching
away to right and left two counters absolutely
laden with every known delicacy ; sandwiches
of every conceivable kind ; cold and hot
things by the dozen. You walked on and on
and on. Her reputation particularly rested
on her wonderful currant tarts. Nothing
could be better. She even exported them in
quantities. Every one knew Mrs. Linden,
and ordered her things— a plain body of a
woman, seen always behind her counter and
looking after her business. I always cherished
this Linden tradition, for she was of the Bar,
the gentlemen of the Long Robe (ridiculous
formula) being her chief patrons. For me
she was associated with many notable families
in the, North, whom her name brought up
before me in a sort of vision.

After a long absence — I suppose of nearly
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twenty years — I found myself one day in dear
old Belfast. I instantly thought of Mrs.
Linden and her famous cakes and sandwiches.
I looked for the familiar place, but somehow
I could not " locate it," as the Americans
have it. I asked a policeman ; " Linden —
Linden ! Don't know it ; never heard it."
"Good gracious," I said vehemently, "the
great confectioner and caterer — surely ? "
" Never heard of her," repeated the fellow ;
" she ain't here, anyhow." I must confess to
feeling a pang as I heard this news. It
seemed to destroy a vast deal. I had clung
to Linden and her tarts ; but to find her thus
wiped out, almost forgotten, not known
even, a woman whom I had known as a
personage. It was really going back beyond
their times.

As a mere child I well recall the great
storm of 1837 and the general alarm of the
terrible night. No one nowadays can have
an idea of its horrors. Every one was up till
dawn, struggling to keep the windows or,
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

indeed, the front of the house from being
blown in. The houses rocked and chimneys
were tumbling in all directions. Mattresses
were used, and chests of drawers, furniture of
all kinds piled up. In our house a carriage-
pole screwed into the floor by aid of a gimlet
did good service.

Many years later, in the open day came a
famous hail-storm which smashed almost
every bit of glass in the city. One small
quarter, I think, escaped. It was curious to
see how completely and thoroughly the
havoc was wrought — every pane in every
window being broken. A " canny " friend,
so soon as the mischief was done, instantly
took train for Kingstown, six miles ofT, and
returned incontinently with a couple of
glaziers. His house was set right; but for
days and weeks perhaps, owing to the dearth
of glaziers and of glass itself, most of the
natives had to be content with white paper
" panes."

The easy carelessness or nonchalance of the
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community is illustrated by what occurred at
some festival or street rejoicing when a pro-
cession was to pass by Trinity College, in
front of which are placed two of Foley's
finest efforts — the bronze statues of Goldsmith
and Burke, both alumni of the University.
The students mustered in force within the
railings, climbing up on every coign of vant-
age to see the fun ; the two statues were not
overlooked — and it would appear that some
youths must have sat upon Goldsmith's
head ! For it was discovered, after the
show was over, that the skull of the poet
had been crushed in by the pressure. It
was a delicate and difficult matter to repair,
and took many weeks. It was ingeniously
contrived by inserting screws in the head, and
these, working in a fixed bar, gradually drew
upwards the sunken portion till it attained
the proper contour. He was, in fact, trepanned.
But only conceive of such a casualty not being
foreseen !

Again, there was a disastrous fire in which
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

several unhappy creatures were burnt, all
owing to the fact that at the time such a thing
as a fire-escape did not exist in the city !
There was much violent indignation, agitation,
and denunciation, with the result that a stock
of fire-escapes was speedily provided. After
some time another great fire broke out — a
few unhappy creatures were seen at the
windows, but no fire-escape arrived, and they
were burned to death. It turned out that
the fire-escape sent for was chained up and
padlocked, and could not be stirred ! The
keeper was away, and the keys could not be
found. It was then ordered that all fire-
escapes should be left free. I am not sure
but that there was a third case later, where
the escape had been so little looked after that
the ropes had become rotten and broke.

All the little watering-places, from Kings-
town onwards to Bray and also beyond Bray,
are exceedingly pretty, and have a charm of
their own. But in most cases little or nothing
is done to add to what Nature has furnished.

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There is a place near Dalkey — called Sorrento
— which is perfectly Mediterranean, and can all
but match Monte Carlo. At Bray and other
places no one has ever thought of making a
raised promenade or digue. The houses and
terraces are mean and shabby. At Llandudno
we can see how magnificently and how profit-
ably such a place can be fashioned. All
round the Irish coast it is the same. In
Belgium, where the coast is tame and mono-
tonous, a new watering-place is created about
every ten years or so — -just touching the
older one. Thus, near Ostend, Blankenberghe
was established — beyond it came Heyst,
Knocke, and others. On the other side were
Mariakerke, Neuport, etc. It was amazing
the rapidity with which they grew up.
There were at first half a dozen houses with
an hotel — then a terrace — then a digue — a
Kursaal and a grand hotel. In a few years it
was a crowded, flourishing place. Kingstown
has in nothing changed during the past fifty
years. It is difficult to know what is the

Recollections of Dublin Castle

reason of this, for building and accommoda-
tion " pays " here just as well as it does else-
where.

The judges, from their high position and
good salaries, were important personages in
the community. There could be no glamour
or make-believe as to their emoluments.
There were some odd characters among
them ; but their chief " note " as a class
was that of holding on obstinately to their
offices until the " soul's dark tenement " all
but fell to pieces. It was astonishing the
uniform tenacity that was displayed by these
veterans. The venerable old Lefroy, long
judge and Chief Justice, was actually hearing
cases and giving judgment when he was
ninety! He took a pride in not using
glasses, and I must say he had a most digni-
fied style and manner. No one could rebuke
better. But I must confess my chief interest
in him was his having attracted Jane Austen
when he was a young fellow. The only

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fault that the gentle Jane could find with
her admirer was that he wore too light a
coat! The old judge in his decay used to
speak tenderly of his gifted partner in the
dance. The Lefroys were a Huguenot
family, and it is remarkable that nearly every
one of the name attained to distinction of
some kind.

A ninety-year-old judge is a surprise. But
what will be said to a blind judge — literally
stone blind — who had to be led on to the
bench : Penefather, whom nothing could
dislodge — neither newspapers, nor the cries
of suitors, nor those of counsel — for he could
not take a note. The blind judge, resisting
the pressure put upon him, used to say to
his friends : "So long as the public will
stand by Baron Penefather, Baron Penefather
will stand by the public." The utter un-
consciousness that the public were not
" standing by him," and were only eager to
be rid of him, is amusing.

Then we had our deaf judge — Perrin —
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

who spoke in a low growl ; discontented
with most things, and mistaking, like Judge
Stareleigh, all that was said. Much amuse-
ment was caused by a misprint in the
Freeman, I think — "His lordship grunted the
order," for "granted." Perrin was a tender-
hearted man, always on the side of the weak
and the poor. I myself heard him say on
circuit to a poor woman who said she
had no counsel, and was in despair : " Never
you mind that. I'll be your counsel myself ;
and let me tell you," he added, " you might
have a worse one." Judge Perrin also
belonged to a Huguenot family. " Perrin's
French Grammar " was still in use. Judge
Torrens was another Huguenot. There had
been Saurin, a great advocate and descendant
of the Preacher ; a popular preacher named
Fleury ; Vignoles, a celebrated engineer ; while
in trade and commerce there were Le Nauze,
the Tabuteaus (pronounced " Tabby Toes "),
Rambauts, Chaigneaus, Lefanus, and many
more. Chancellor Brady was also connected
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with these Huguenot families, his Christian
name being Maziere, or Mazeer, as it was
always pronounced. He told me that they
were descended directly from the Brady of
the "Tate and Brady" partnership — an inter-
esting association. This suggests a story
connected with the agreeable family of Sir
Edward Borough, always in the forefront
of the Dublin entertainments. Armit and
Borough were the well-kown firm of army
agents. The Regent was said to have talked
with one of the family. " Armit — Armit,"
he said ; "what, a son of Armit and Borough?"
" No, your highness, of Armit only."

All these aged incumbents felt that they
were impregnably secured in their position,
and that there was no power to dislodge
them. There was one way however : that
was to make it worth their while to retire ;
and this I believe the old Chief Justice was
willing to do if his son were put on the
bench. But this was paying too high a price,
and besides, the law officers had their claims.
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

Then there was Chief Baron Pigot, whose
rage for taking notes was a sort of mania.
He must note everything down, but was a
very slow writer ; hence the evidence of a
witness was a most extraordinary process. A
few words were uttered, after which came a
long pause, during which the judge was
carefully writing. After a reasonable period
the witness would begin again — when he was
violently interrupted — " Stop ! stop, sir !
do you not see I am taking down your
evidence ? How can I do so if you talk ?
Keep your eye on the top of my pen, and
when it stops, you may go on." He was a
truly upright and conscientious man, but a
sore trial to counsel and suitors.

Once the Chief Baron was trying a sensa-
tional case with more than his usual pains-
taking prolixity. Day after day was trailing
by, with no sign of the end — the unhappy jury
worn out. A counsel was expatiating : " This
gentleman had all the insolence of office, and
who, as Hamlet says, can bear that? " A jury-
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man said quietly, "Did he say anything about
the Law's delays ?" The whole court roared —
the judge himself was convulsed ; but most of
all the galleries. It really showed an extra-
ordinary familiarity with the Bard that such
an allusion should have been <£ taken up."

Shall I ever forget the famous dog case,
where the ownership was disputed and the dog
himself brought into court. As the case
grew entangled, the judge thought it necessary
to have the animal beside him on the bench,
when he opened the dog's mouth and care-
fully looked down his throat. Not much light
coming from this process, his lordship ordered
the court to be cleared of every one save the
counsel in the case and the claimants, and
a grave, solemn test was applied. Each
candidate was to call to the animal ! This
was tried, but the test failed.

And Judge Ball ! — not all the stories
gathered in Lord Cockburn's account of
the Scotch Bar could match his eccen-
tricities. He was an unfailing source of
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amusement, which he seemed to provide
willingly enough, as, by a curious delusion,
he fancied the fan was at the expense of
others and not of himself. His favourite
fashion, particularly on circuit, when he
indulged in all sorts of gambols, was to
affect to misunderstand the witness, and to
assume that he had said something extra-
ordinary. As for instance at Belfast, when a
northerner in his dialect deposed that he
had been told something by a man who was
" one o' the wetnusses." " What ? " said
the judge, in affected astonishment. " Let
me understand you ! One of the what did
you say ? " " One of the wetnusses, my lud."
" Good heavens ! do you mean to tell me
that down here men act as wet-nurses ? "
Here counsel would interpose — " He means
witnesses, my lud." " Oh, I see." This
sort of thing went on constantly. Another
" wet-nurse," speaking of a machine, spoke
of " her gudgeons being quite hot." " Good
heavens ! Her gudgeons — you were speaking of
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a machine just now — and what are gudgeons?"
I have heard him tell how once at Parma he
had dined with Marie Louise, Napoleon's
second wife, and afterwards went to her box
at the theatre to see a masquerade. She was
very curious as to the masks, making guesses
as to who the people were." That is So-and-
so, I am sure." There was little ceremony —
he had no court dress with him, but the
Chamberlain said that did not matter. He
used also to relate a curious freak perpetrated
by him and Sir H. Barrow, at the time of
the late Queen's accession. They found the
Privy Council assembling in the small hours,
and entered with the rest, though they did
not belong to that body, and took their seats
unquestioned. He described the young girl
in mourning coming in and passing to the
top of the table. When it came to signing,
Barrow scrawled some illegible hieroglyphics,
and Ball wrote " Nic. 2fo//." It was said that
the name so appeared in the newspapers
next day.

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Baron Hughes was an amiable man, though
not reputed a very brilliant judge. He was
the father-in-law of the late Lord Morris.
He wrote a work called " Hughes's Chancery
Practice," which was poorly thought of in
the profession — in fact, was good-naturedly said
to have been one of the worst law books ever
written. A facetious barrister used to relate
that he once strayed into an auction room
just as he heard the auctioneer saying : " The
next lot, gentlemen, is a miscellany. It con-
sists of a bootjack, a toothpick case, and —
' Hughes's Chancery Practice.' "

Judge Keogh — pronounced " Kho " in one
syllable, not " Keehoe," as he was invariably
called in England — was a remarkable per-
sonage ; a political adventurer, some con-
sidered him. But as to his cleverness and
brilliancy there could be no question. I see
his round, red, and rather monumental face
now. He was rare good company, and told
his many stories admirably. What a career
his was, with that of his friend Sadleir, whom
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" Boz " introduced as Merdle into " Little
Dorrit " ! As regards Sadleir, I find in an old
diary written at the time a curious anticipation :
" His fate is like the ending of a Dickens
story, such as that of Ralph Nickleby: one
can supply, as Dickens did, all the dreadful
feelings growing on him gradually, the shadows
darkening, his mind clouded, &c." I was
present on the morning that Keogh first took
his seat on the bench. He was greeted with
cheers in the hall and also when he took his
seat in the court. Some one asked a barrister
next me what he was thinking of. " I am
thinking," he answered, " what can have
suspended the Providence of the Almighty
on this occasion." Another, pointing to a
respectable old gentleman who had seated
himself in the witness-box and was staring at
the bench, suggested that " he must be one
of Keogh's principal creditors." The ap-
pointment was indeed thought a serious
scandal.

A short time after Keogh had taken his
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seat, I heard a counsel state some legal pro-
position which he declared " not even the
youngest of them would deny," referring to
the judge. This was curious, as anticipating
in a sense the well-known mot of the Master
of Trinity.

There were two judges at least who had
been fire-eaters ; one had killed his man.
This latter, when in the House of Commons,
used to make blunders which caused much
laughter and scoffing at almost everything he
said. Such, for instance, as his saying, " I do
not stand here to mitigate the evils of the
Court of Chancery," meaning to say " pal-
liate." Some of his friends, however, let the
casualty just mentioned be known, and it was
astonishing to see what a change of a sudden
took place, and how respectfully he was
treated henceforward. The other was the
Master of the Rolls, the Hon. T. B. C. Smith
—"Alphabet Smith," O'Connell's "Vinegar
Cruet," an epithet truly appropriate, for a
more bilious, sour-looking being never sat.
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I had had the ill fortune to make my debut at
the bar before him. He once challenged an
opposing counsel in open court, his sensitive
nature being fretted beyond all endurance.
Almost everything he said was more or less
disagreeable. I heard him address a counsel,
"Not a single word of what you have been
saying this half-hour has anything to do with
the question."

During the 'forties there was one English-
man on the bench, Judge Burton. It was
one of the most curious coincidences that he
should have been brought over by O'Connell
as his clerk, and getting called to the bar was
later destined to try and sentence his old
employer !

I heard from an old Irish barrister that
Doherty, the Chief Justice, wishing to give
Canning a good idea of what Irish eloquence
was, sent him a copy of some famous cause
in which Bushe and all the " great guns " had
expended floods of oratory. Canning read it
with interest, and later, asked by Doherty
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how he liked it, replied, " Oh, very good
indeed. There was a very sensible speech in
it by a man called Burton." There was much
behind this significant judgment.

I must not pass by two men of extraordinary
ability, who were quite unprovincial in
their talents. Both were Chancellors of
Ireland. The first was Ball, a truly accom-
plished man and jurist, whose first speech in
the House created quite a sensation. He
was a thoroughly solid orator. The other
was Hugh Law, who Mr. Gladstone said
was the best law officer from Ireland he ever
had dealings with. He was of invaluable
service to him in the legal details of the new
Irish legislation. Law told me that nothing
more amazed him in all the round of Mr.
Gladstone's gifts than his almost instinctive
grasp of legal and technical details. He could
draw a clause as well as any parliamentary
draftsman. The present Mr. Justice Madden
is as agreeable as he is accomplished. There
have been few more sudden successes than his
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scholarly and pleasant work on Shakespeare
as a sportsman.

What lawyer ever made such profits of his
talents as the late Lord Morris of facetious
memory ? Here was a barrister of very
moderate talents, but endowed with a rich
brogue and a certain pushful power ; and yet,
what were the results? : (i) a law officership;
(2) a judgeship; (3) a baronetcy; (4) a life
peerage; (5) a superior and well-paid post for
his brother, head of a board, &c. ; (7) a
baronetcy for the said brother ; (8) a well-paid
post for his nephew ; (9) a lordship of appeal
in the House of Lords, besides other good
things which I have forgotten ; finally, a
British peerage for himself, on which he with-
drew from public life.

This was no bad crop to reap. I suspect
there were other dependents of the family
who obtained " berths " through the same
powerful agency. 1 was always astonished at
his success, for it was difficult to conceive of
a less refined nature. Most men of the world,
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and especially those who have worked their
way through the world, feel constrained to
simulate even a sort of interest in the doings
or feelings of other people. But Lord
Morris had no such notion. He had little
taste for books. His books were Lady This
and Lord That. It was amusing to note how
his attention flagged and his eyes grew listless
as any favourite topic, such as cultivated men
like to discuss, was introduced. A world
full of Lord Morris and Killanins would be
a very prosaic affair. I think his humour
was rather over-rated, and it always seemed
to me that the whole point of each instance
was assumed to be that he (Morris) had said
it. I fancy he was the last person of position
that used what might be called oaths or as-
severations. He did this, not from profanity
or temper, but simply from a wish to emphasise

the point of his story. " By G , sir, I

thought the feller 'ud ha' dropped down, &c."
You could hear him in the Athenaeum Club
hall holding forth in the richest of brogues.
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Some of the judges had elegant tastes — such
as Sir Edward Sullivan in Books, others in art.
In Liffey Street there used to be a small num-
ber of " old curiosity shops." Lord James
Butler had found here Empire furniture, rare
Sevres, Chippendale mirrors, all to be had
" for songs." The Castle folk used to go
down, eager to trade on the " confiding sim-
plicity " of the natives. Now, the dealers
are thoroughly wide awake, and it is difficult
to obtain a bargain. An officer, who gallantly
met his death in the relief of Gordon, carried
off some thirty fine old chimney-pieces, to
fix in some houses that he was building in
London. There are many clever collec-
lioneurs who know their Liffey Street well.

The most conspicuous of the Irish judges
has certainly been the late Lord Fitzgerald —
for whose talents the English bar had the
greatest respect. There was something
calmly judicial in his tone and manner, a
quiet dignity, attended by reserve, and
absence of all attempt at " showing off."

Recollections of Dublin Castle

Lord Fitzgerald was a very successful man,
both in the House and at the Bar. He had
a large family, and after the death of his wife,
being ambitious, he married a Peer's sister,
quite a girl — a most pleasing and interesting
woman — perfectly suited to him. Then
came a second family. How hospitable they
were, at their pretty villa Kilmarnock at
Ballybrack — situated on quite an Italian head-
land. Many a charming Sunday's dinner
have I shared in down there. The late Judge
O'Brien also won much praise for the
admirable way in which he directed the
" Invincible " or Phoenix Park murder trials.
Chief Baron Palles — the last of all the Chief
Barons — is also well known and respected.
The one solitary Serjeant left is found at the
Irish Bar — Serjeant Hemphill, M.P.

It would be difficult to give an idea of the
uproarious but highly amusing scenes that
took place in the courts when any sensational
cause was being tried. The galleries would
be packed with idle fellows — the idler bar
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struggled for places in their own quarter —
applause and laughter alternated. The highest
point of excitement was reached when either
that wiry-haired terrier Fitzgibbon, or the
bulldog Whiteside, " rose to cross-examine."
No one can have an idea of the ferocious
bullying to which the unhappy witness was
subjected — he was roared at, intimidated,
ridiculed — everything that was required for
the examiner's case was wrung out of him ;
while the judge, secretly enjoying the fun
with the rest, looked on smiling, or some-
times interfered with only a gentle deprecation.
No play could be more interesting. I recall
a number of exciting cases which drew great
houses — such as Matthew v. Harty, where
a young man had been imprisoned in a lunatic
asylum — the great Montgarret peerage — and
the most famous of all, the Yelverton mar-
riage case. I recall this commencing quite
unostentatiously in the middle of the day to a
half-empty court; and being attracted by the
interesting plaintiff who was under examina-

Recollections of Dublin Castle

tion. This fair creature was a most pleasing
heroine — with her fair hair, sweet voice, and
suffering manner. She told her sad story in
the most captivating manner, and most effec-
tively. But it would be difficult to give an
idea of the uncontrolled riot that continually
reigned in court. There were cheers, up-
roarious laughter, applause, and scarcely
restrained execration for the unhappy de-
fendant. Mr. Brewster, who was his counsel,
had a most difficult and painful task ; while
Whiteside flung himself into the case with a
sort of passionate hysteria almost inconceiv-
able. As was to be expected, all this frantic
enthusiasm abated when her cause failed and
the Dublin verdict was superseded by that of
the House of Lords. I knew her in her later,
less prosperous days, when the poor creature
was trying to get something substantial
from her former adherents ; but there is no
situation more piteous than that of the heroine
of whom people are grown tired.

The whole community became excited, and
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for weeks nothing else was talked of. A
verse of the street ballad will be recalled :

Long life unto the jury

That brought the verdict home,

Because she was a mimber
Of the Holy Church of Rome.

The unconscious naivete of the confession,
" because she was," which more or less was true
enough, is amusing. Once after a dinner-
party the facetious Nedley, with a companion
as facetious, stood and sang this lilt in
character and with the proper twang and
brogue of the street minstrel, to the great
amusement of the company. A distinguished
Catholic physician, however, took deep
umbrage at the performance, declaring an
insult to his faith had been intended. Things
were always liable to " gang agley " in this
fashion.

Another leading figure at the bar was the

amiable and highly popular O'Hagan — Tom

O'Hagan, as he was called — a strong patriot

of extraordinary oratorical power, that is, of

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Recollections of Dublin Castle

exceeding fluency. He was always "agin
the Government," particularly at any dramatic
or stirring crisis. He was a most agreeable,
conscientious, thoroughly good man ; but
he certainly made ihis patriotism pay ; and
in no country does patriotism pay so well as
in Ireland — never was man so fortunate or
enjoyed such a stream of favours. He was
long a County Court Judge, but when Mr.
Gladstone "arrived," he became the first
Catholic Chancellor — was made a peer, and —
O la bonne fortune ! — albeit past sixty,
espoused a wealthy young lady belonging
to one of the oldest English families. Under
the Land Act his son-in-law became judge of
the court, and others of the family were
comfortably provided for. He was a man
of unbounded hospitality, and, settling in
London, gathered in at repeated dinner-
parties everybody of note or that was worth
knowing. I don't know any one to whose
personality the word " agreeable " could have
been more fitly applied. And yet there were
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many things that troubled him. I recall his
saying to me, on a walk we had together,
" Alas, I was far happier as a simple County
Court Judge." He was seized suddenly with
a fit, and, after long lingering, died.

We should have heard " Tom " O'Hagan
in such a case as that of the Bible-burning
trial, when a monk — Father Petcherine, I
think — was prosecuted for this offence. How
impassioned he was ! how he vindicated the
right to burn ! And yet, how droll it all was !
For here was no freethinker or infidel, to
whom the burning of the sacred volume
might seem a desirable thing — but a pious
priest, who reverenced it ! I forget how it
terminated.

" Tom " O'Hagan was a most fervid
orator, and allowed himself to be carried
away by the full torrent of his feelings.
Once on circuit he was conducting a case
against a local " gay Lothario," who was
sitting almost behind him. I had come in
late, just as he was in the middle of an
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impassioned burst, when he turned round
and began " branding " the culprit, addressing
his indignant glances and gestures to #;<?,
who, he assumed, was the heartless betrayer.
It was exactly Serjeant Buzfuz turning on
Mr. Pickwick in court. He grew warmer
and warmer — " If this man has any heart, if
he has one spark of honour left." There
was a good deal of tittering, as may be
imagined.

Poor Lord O'Hagan ! he had, I believe,
but the one fly in his ointment — or perhaps
his lady had. It was that unfortunate
Hibernian title — which was rather too racy of
the soil. " Lord o' This " or " Lord o1
That " does not command respect. It seems
out of an Irish novel. The old Irish Peers
were far more romantic in devising their
titles — Earl de Montalt, Lord Belvedere, Lord
Bellamont, Lord Charlemont, Lord de Vesci,
Lord de Montmorenci. It would have been
easy enough, and as cheap, to devise something
romantic, retaining O'Hagan as the family
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name. I was told that an attempt was made
to have the title changed into Townley —
Viscount Townley would have sounded
better. What has happened since the death
of this pleasant man would make a curious
chapter.

At his obsequies there occurred what I
thought was a most singular incident. It was
at the old Warwick St. Chapel, which is lofty,
with a high, flat skylight. All the dignitaries
of the church, and the friends, widow, etc.,
were seated round ; the Office was being
chanted ; when lo ! there came a crash of
broken and falling glass, and a great black cat
was precipitated down — some fifty feet, I
suppose — into the middle of the choir, when
she got up and disappeared in some mysterious
way.

I recall once, when at the old town
of Monaghan on circuit, my astonishment at
hearing in the middle of the night the watch-
man beneath the inn windows calling out in
sonorous tones, " Past twelve o'clock, and a
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

cloudy night ! " This left a strange, old-
world impression. There was, by the way,
at these assizes a strange romantic murder
trial in which I was concerned, the detection
of which turned upon the victim's watch,
which had stopped at a particular hour, and
which was the witness that convicted the
accused. An account of the trial was written
for Dickens's journal. It made a deep
impression, and I was not astonished to find
that he utilised this strange incident in his
" Mutual Friend."

The two successful brothers-in-law, White-
side and Napier, both held high place at the
bar, Napier being Member for the Univer-
sity, Whiteside for Enniskillen. Napier —
the Right Hon. Joseph — was much gibed
at for his ostentatiously sanctimonious ways,
his soft creeping manner and voice. Some
set him down as a sort of Stiggins, others
as " a very good man." Perhaps he was
something between.

Whiteside, tempestuous and torrential as
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one of the great French rivers, contrasted with
his relative's somewhat sluggish stream. Mrs.
Napier was a good-natured being — of strange
expressions and blunders, uttered in a rather
strange voice. These odd speeches were
circulated with enjoyment, much as were
those of Mrs. Hudson, to which class they
belonged : as when she would declare that
" she knew nothing of Mr. Napier's taking
a purge," meaning thereby, after her fashion
of pronunciation, " taking a peerage."
Thackeray — than whom none knew better or
so well (marvellous in a Saxon !) the niceties of
the Irish pronunciation, or the particular tones
of the brogue, which go deep and signify
character — once heard a man declare that
" they had a bauncy in their family " — i.e> a
baronetcy — and all Irish will recognise the
nuance. One of her daughters — a pretty
girl enough, with a good voice — was married
to Sir Duncan Macgregor's son, a man — the
father, I mean — whom I always looked at with
extraordinary interest, as I ever have done on
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one who has passed through some wonderful
adventures of peril. For he was one of the
few survivors that escaped from the great
burning Indiaman which is a " leading case,"
as it were, in all the collections of " ship-
wrecks and adventures at sea." He was
rescued, and became head of the Irish Con-
stabulary. The humorous element in this
highly serious family was this — that the
father, generally known as " Holy Joe," was
blessed with a son who was a perfect " pickle."
What wrestlings had " Holy Joe " had to
encounter in this connection ! He was cer-
tainly sorely tried by his " Willie," and most
ludicrous it was to see how this Willie felt
compelled, for the mere respectability of the
family, to assume a sort of serious air. When
he came to the north-east circuit with us, it
was a perpetual delight to see how Willie
shook himself free of" Holy Joe's " influence,
and drank and sang, and comported himself
in a very pleasant and perhaps unedifying way.
He was highly popular, I really believe, on
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the ground of his amusing antagonism to his
sire's methods. How he used to give us a lilt,
with chorus, known as " The Leather
Breeches " ! And here again I must note the
strange phenomenon that this black, bitter,
Papist-hating youth was at heart a far better
and more genuine Irishman than the regular
native element belonging to the old faith.
He delighted in consorting with poor Paddy,
and knew all his ways, enjoyed his fun and
frolic, and told stories of' him with immense
zest. Poor Willie, he had but a short run
for his money !

Whiteside was married to Napier's sister —
who Mrs. Napier was I know not, but they
went forward very prosperously — the brothers-
in-law advancing part passu. Napier was
Attorney-General for Ireland, with Whiteside
as Solicitor. This was all very well until a
later administration came, when " Holy Joe "
became Lord Chancellor of Ireland and his
brother-in-law Attorney-General. I believe
there was much friction about this change,
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

and the family affection was disturbed in
consequence. There was, indeed, much
clamour about the appointment, for " Holy
Joe " was known to be quite deaf, and could
scarcely hear the judges' words without their
being repeated twice or so, he making an ex-
temporary trumpet of his hand. Hence the
popular distich, " Mr. Na-/^r, with his hand
to his ear." Of course, he had the advantage
that he could simulate hearing and perfect
intelligence, with no one to question it. The
impetuous James thought that the oleaginous
Joseph had robbed him of his birthright, and
in this connection I recall a very awkward
incident. I had gone down to dine at
Marino — Lord Charlemont's house — for a
" gilt-edged" dinner, at which were announced
first the Attorney-General and Mrs. White-
side, who entered smiling, and presently the
Lord Chancellor — Napier ! This was most
unpleasant ; but the pair carried it off most
admirably. Even after dinner, when the
ladies had gone up and the talk was among
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half a dozen, they contrived never to see or
address each other. But the host surely
ought to have known what was known to
" the man in the street."

Later, when a fresh opening for gaining
the championship came round, Whitehouse
thought he might fairly reckon on the prize.
No one had worked so hard for his party,
his torrential eloquence was ever ready at a
moment's notice, and he would again and again
rush into the affray. As he told me himself, Lord
Derby would say to him jocularly : " Now,
Whiteside, is your shillelagh ready?" When
the chance came, however, there was a policy
of general conciliation on foot — Whiteside
was a high Protestant champion — an Orange-
man, to boot — and was, besides, believed to be
imperfectly equipped with law, and had cer-
tainly no " equity." What was his rage and
despair when he found the coveted post
snatched from him and given to Brewster —
while he was " put off " with the miserable
consolation prize of the Chief Justiceship !
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His friend Forster told me that his grief and
mortification were terrible — he could not sleep
of nights. Most people thought that the
Chief Justiceship was an office beyond his
merits, and that he was equally unsuited to it.
But he was for a time inconsolable.

I was sorry for him — he was such a pleasant,
impulsive creature — -juvenile to a degree —
ever buoyant, even to " giving himself away."
The Chancellorship would not have confined
him to Dublin and the drudgery of the courts.
He could have been constantly in his darling
London. Poor Whiteside, he was but ill at
home in the Queen's Bench — a sort of un-
comfortable prison for him ! His rival, the
Rt. Hon. Abraham Brewster, used to give
himself out as the sole Peelite in Ireland.
With an affectation that used to amuse his
friends, he would talk of " Grarham," as he
styled Sir James Graham, and rather posed
as a martyr. He, however, attained the
Chancellorship. It was thought surprising in
the 'fifties that there should be three Roman
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Catholic judges in the Common Pleas, and it
was dubbed " the court of Rome."

The familiar " four courts" — so called
because four courts open out of a fine circular
hall, though there are now six or seven courts —
is really an imposing building. It is far more
impressive, with its fine ornamental dome,
than the " poorish " incoherent structure
which, at the cost of so much time and treasure,
does the same duty in London. The Dublin
Hall is surrounded by statues — and there is
one of Whiteside by Woolner, who, I remem-
ber, consulted me on the likeness. It is hardly
spirited enough in the attitude. I recall asking
one of the attendants in the Hall who was
the sculptor of some statue. He answered :

" Sure, it's by Misther , the same, sir, that

cut Sir Michael yonder," i.e., sculpsit.

Among the judges, there was one of singular
depth and ability, but strangely reserved,
taciturn, and to a certain extent an oddity.
He never entertained nor was entertained.
He kept himself to himself, in his large
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gloomy and inhospitable house in Merrion
Square, which is now, rather appropriately,
turned into a convent. He was so thoroughly
well imbued with legal knowledge and a
spirit of acute logic, that he could not
conceal his contempt for the more superficial
gifts of his comrades, and, with little in life
to entertain him, he found a daily enjoyment
in quietly and sarcastically pointing out their
lapses — to themselves. The fashion in which
this was done showed the highest " finish,"
and he ever succeeded in making them
thoroughly uncomfortable. The richest treat
was when he sat as Lord Justice with his col-
league Whiteside, whose rambling " splash-
ings " and open flounderings, covered by a
flood of words, laid him constantly open to
correction. Often his companion's whole
judgment was devoted to a sneering criticism
of his colleague, artfully disguised as a
discussion and couched in ironical praises.
Poor Whiteside used to writhe like a worm
on a hook, and shift his position in restless
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impatience as he listened. The worst was,
that it was felt that Christian — such was his
name — was right. One could but pity, for
the victim had indeed but a mauvais quart
cTheure. Another instance of Christian's
pleasant style : he was giving judgment on
some right-of-way question, when his colleague,
a rough-speaking judge, interrupted : " Sure,
when a fellow's had his piece of ground so
long, what the divil's right has another fellow
to come in and put him out ? " Christian :
" That's exactly what I have been trying to
convey, though I could not express it so
forcibly as the learned judge has done."

I need say little of Dowse, the witty
advocate and talker, who is still well re-
collected in the House of Commons. There
was a northern " pawkiness " about all he
said, well pointed by his peculiar accent. His
sayings were notable for their original cast.
He carried every one with him — his whole
speech at the court was a continuous flow of
comic points. The only instance I can recall

Recollections of Dublin Castle

at the moment was his quiet remark, when
arguing on a Municipal Act which directed
that a certain disorderly class of females should
be carted through the public streets, — " a
custom," he said, " which has since fallen into
desuetude ; I believe, my lord, from the
impossibility of the corporations providing
carts in sufficient numbers." " A bar of
iron, gentlemen!" he said, at some trial for
assault ; " why, this bar of iron at last has
dwindled into the plain, familiar domestic
poker." "It was only a lark, they tell us;
though I never could see why that respectable
bird should have the credit of such doings."

I once heard a barrister — a Queen's
Counsel, too — arguing in a sheep- stealing
case ; getting into difficulties, he actually
urged that the culprit was also guilty of re-
ceiving. " Surely, my lord, he might have
received the sheep from himself ~ knowing it
to be stolen. That is only common sense,
my lord." No wonder the opposing counsel

said, "Only the common sense of Mr. ."

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One of the raciest, most exuberant barristers
I ever met was McBlain, of the northern
circuit. His spirits were unbounded ; and
in his cups he would burst into quite Homeric
strains, describing one as " the far-darting
Murphy," who had " buried his long-waving,
shadowy javelin in my omphalos" There was
a ponderous, slow-moving counsel, whom

he would address as "the swift-footed H ."

This gentleman rarely spoke, but listened
attentively to these humorous quips, when
our friend asked, " Isn't he like the good old
country member in the House of Commons
who, though he said nothing, would always
vote strong?"

This amusing man used to go regularly
to Homburg, where, at table d'hote and else-
where, he made things " hum," and delighted
strangers with his histrionics. He had a way
of saying across the table to me, " I saw your
friend Patti on the promenade with her hus-
band ; " or again, " I saw your friend the
King of Prussia driving." This was a

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favourite colloquialism of his. A grave
Englishman spoke to me later in the evening :
"How I do envy you," he said ; "I come here
and I go away without getting to know a
soul." "Well, I know very few," I said.
" Oh, but Madame Patti and the King of
Prussia ! " I have seen him keeping both
sides of the table in a roar, as he indulged in
his vehement flights. The Vice-Chancellor,
Malins, was particularly delighted with him.

I once heard a barrister say humbly, when
the court objected to an affidavit, "I'll under-
take to procure from the solicitor any affidavit
that your lordship may require." Nothing
could be more accommodating. In an action
brought against a clergyman for circulating
scandalous stories against another, I heard
him plead in the witness box that " he had
only propagated these tales with the view of
denying them " — a truly comical notion.

There was Sergeant Armstrong, too, a
rough customer indeed, who could turn his
witness " inside-out." In the Irish courts,
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this unfortunate being was always directed to
"get upon the table" — upon which the chair
of torture was screwed down ; there he sat
most grotesquely conspicuous. There was
Rollestone, too — another vigorous counsel, of
whom a good-humoured judge, in a dispute as
to the identity of a piece of ground, said —
" Don't I know it well ? — and Charley Rolle-
stone there and I, didn't we often wrastle
together all over it ? "

There was Isaac Butt, too, who had a great
reputation, though he never much impressed
me, owing to his hesitating manner. His life
seemed to be a constant struggle with pe-
cuniary difficulties, and this, being well known,
impaired the force of his advocacy. He was
of the same stamp as Judge Keogh, only the
latter was more fortunate. Money was often
scarce at the bar, and at times you could
not be sure of your fees. I once heard a
counsel — when a small case had been decided
against him — say contemptuously to his
opponent : " Well, that's two guineas for
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

you, anyhow," — meaning that he was now
likely to get his fee.

This dramatic element, with the oratorical
bursts and impassioned appeals, is no longer
to be found. The present counsel are mostly
calm, sober, and perhaps humdrum practi-
tioners, much like their brethren across the
water.

Wolfe, who was Irish Solicitor-General, I
think, about the time of the Norton and
Melbourne case (he was of the " Not-a-drum-
was-heard " family), told a friend of mine that
he was taking an evening walk when he found
himself opposite Lord Melbourne's house in the
Park. As one would naturally do, he stopped
to have " a good look at it," and was gazing
abstractedly at one of the rooms mentioned in
the trial when he felt a hand upon his
shoulder, and heard a pleasant voice : " How
does Mr. Sergeant Wolfe do to-night ? " It
was the owner of the mansion, who looked at
him with a sly, half-humorous glance. It
was a rather comic situation.
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A barrister, speaking contemptuously of
the gossip that goes on in some small towns,
said : " Why, my lud, they know the number
of the feathers in each other's beds ! " An
old servant said to his master : " Ah sir, be
like a gentleman, and head the fut o' your
own table."

Who recalls now " Buffer " Johnston and
John Reilly ? The latter had captured a
daughter of Lord St. Leonards when he was
Chancellor, and we heard a good deal of " the
Hon. Mrs. Reilly." Johnston was a portly,
black-whiskered barrister, who had a position
in society, thinking a vast deal of himself, as
such stout men do. But never was there a
more appropriate name — " the Buffer." He
looked the " buffer " all over, and all he said
had a " buffer " tone. There were a number
of these self-asserting men about ; no one
could say what they had to recommend them,
but they were accepted, and you heard con-
stantly of what "Buffer" had said, or what
" John Reilly " says.

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There was a young barrister, C , who

could not deal with any subject except in the
most elevated and grandiloquent strain. He
would talk gravely of the ** lordly cham-
pagne and the majestic port." Once, in an
action about a strip of grass attached to a
mud cabin in Galway, he pleaded : " Gentle-
men, my client found this tract a desert, and
he changed its face to a garden of roses.
Before, what was it ? a howling wilderness,
whence not even an attenuated snipe could
find place to rest its wasted foot." It was
long before he heard the last of the " atten-
uated snipe."

I always admired the sarcastic judgment
given by a judge whose name I have for-
gotten. Two of his brethren had differed in
giving their judgments, when he said : " I
concur with my brother Joy, for the reasons
given by my brother McClelland." This was
quite in Bethell's style.

There was a case where the object in dispute
was a cow, which had been had on hire and
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was nearly starved to death by the lessee. The
judge, asking who appeared for the plaintiff,
was answered by a sort of " whining " barrister,
" My lard, I appear for the poor cow"

I also heard a muscular clergyman, asked
about a distance, say carelessly : " Well, it was
about a -pistol shot from my house." I once
heard this really good bull uttered by a
counsel : " He returned the papers, my lord,
but with this fatal omission ; he had left in
the names of the two townlands."

Such English lawyers as Burton, Hart,
Sugden, Campbell, and others, were of great
value to the Irish courts, as they brought
genuine law into fashion instead of talk, and
regulated the procedure. Sugden installed
his son in a lucrative office in the Chancery
Court. He was a curious personage. It
was told of him that he occupied two houses
next door to each other, with two gardens in
front. A bawling hawker opened the gate,
walked up the garden walk, and gave a loud
knock, on which Sugden burst out on him

Recollections of Dublin Castle

with fury, and sent him away thoroughly
scared. The fellow thought he would try
the next house, opened the gate, walked
up, and gave another loud knock. When
the door was violently opened by the same
person, and he was again assailed, thinking it
was witchcraft, he flung down his basket
and fled.

Counsel, in those days, were an extra-
ordinary and brilliant, if tumultuous, party.
There were Whiteside, Macdonough, Fitz-
Gibbon, and Brewster, who had all the lead-
ing nisi-prius and speech-making business.
Of these, the most infinitely delightful was
Macdonough. Surely, out of Moliere or
Congreve, a more entertaining character could
not be conceived. He was very tall, and
affected an absurd gracefulness in his
language and movements that was most
diverting. He had a sort of soft plausi-
bility that in another would have been sheer
impudence — so far-fetched and transparent
were the pleas he would offer. But all was
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done with a smooth and almost sancti-
monious air. He was, moreover, pronounced
by the ill-natured to be a sort of Lothario.
I once heard him answer, with due gravity,
the venerable old Chief Justice Lefroy, who
put a question as to the relation of the
parties. " She is not our wife, my lord, but
we have been living with her for years, and
have had several children by her." It seemed
to me that the identification of counsel with
client could not be put in more amusing
fashion. And his own reputation lent a
piquancy to the speech. Mac, as he was
called, got into Parliament for the then
corrupt borough of Sligo, where contests
caused heavy drawings on his hard-earned
savings. Strange to say, in London he had
some success, owing to the patronage of a
certain duchess, who was delighted with his
smooth circumlocutions and old-fashioned
compliments. Folk, however, brought back
stories of social mistakes ; as when the
duchess took leave of him : " Well, your
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

grace, I shall hope to see your grace when I
come to town again." " Ah, Mr. Mac-
donough, I may be in Kensal Green then ! "
" But your grace will surely come up for the
season ? " He thought it was the family
seat in the country. This tale gave great
delight.

Once he was induced to give a ball — a
great event. A splendid sight it was to see
" Mac " promenading it in state with some
important dowager, and making regular
speeches to groups, as though returning
thanks for their attendance. He himself
believed — just as Joseph Surface would — in
these flourishings — at least, he thought they
produced an effect. The supper rooms were
carefully locked till the psychological moment
arrived, waiting, perhaps, some distinguished
guest. But Mac's familiar friends, growing
hungry, began to gather together at the door,
and soon grew all but clamorous. They
somehow got it open, and made a regular
raid on the dainties. There was some excel-

SP of Dublin Society

lent roast game, which was cleared off in a
twinkling, before Mac and his distinguished
guests could get down. He was very angry.
In the early days of my boyhood there was
a far higher type of physician than is now often
found. Such was Sir Henry Marsh — of a
spare, thin figure, his chin and lips of a
monastic tint, and very much suggesting that
finished actor, Mr. Hare. He had lost a
couple of fingers in an operation, to be noted
by his black glove and ribbon. He was to
be seen in his handsome open victoria, drawn
by a fiery pair of horses, always driven at full
speed, while he lay back wrapped in his cloak.
He was described in a local novel as "Sir Hum-
bug Drivequick," which in those dull days
was thought a bit of happy satire. His name
and writings were well known in the medical
world. Stokes was another of this fine old
school ; his writings and discoveries, as well
as those of Graves and Colles, were familiar
to the profession. Perhaps the most accom-
plished and popular was the Surgeon-General,
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

Sir Philip Crampton, whom we knew inti-
mately. It was something for me to have my
throat burned with caustic by the pleasant
physician who had well known and enter-
tained Walter Scott, who was pleased with
him. In those days no physician would have
accepted anything short of a baronetcy.
Knighthoods were despised and laughed at.
It is only in our time that they have been
sought, and have risen in value. In latter
times a number of these honours were offered
to the Dublin physicians, by whom at first
they were indignantly rejected. However, a
shrewd surgeon, Porter, accepted, and, as it
was prophesied, the " sir " was found of pro-
fessional value, people not caring to distinguish
between the two kinds of " sirs." Gradually
the others came in, save one — the pleasant and
most hospitable Sir John Bankes — who held
aloof for years, and at last compromised the
matter by accepting a K.C.B. An old friend
of mine recived an introduction to Sir Philip
Crampton, from a well-known talkative and
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omniscient lady— at least, in her own opinion.
Presenting the letter, the patient said, " I
have come to you, sir, because the lady says
you are the second best physician in Ireland."
Sir Philip looked rather displeased, when the
other went on : "You know, sir, she considers
herself the first."

Another well-known physician was Sir
Dominic Corrigan, whose work on fevers
gave him a reputation. In physic, as in other
things, the religious question entered deeply.
There were Catholic hospitals, and one im-
portant purely Protestant hospital, in which
a standing rule was that no " Romanist "
priest was to be allowed to set foot. Sir
Dominic was always consulted by the Catholic
priests, and I believe was physician to May-
nooth College — a post that was certain to
lead to advancement in the profession. The
present Sir Francis Cruise, who holds one of
the most lucrative practices in the city, has
distinguished himself by his investigations
into the life of Thomas a Kempis — and his
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

services in this line have been gratefully
acknowledged by the city of Kempen in Hol-
land, which has recently named one of its
streets " Kruis Strasse."

The ecclesiastical element was strongly
developed in the city, owing to the perpetual
conflict between the two religions. Dr.
Whately lived in a vast house in St. Stephen's
Green — " the Palace " — the door of which
was reached by an enormous flight of about
twenty steps. The stairs and rooms were
palatial. The Stephen's Green mansions are
indeed fine things. Many houses of far
smaller dimensions boast noble chimney-pieces
and other antique glories. I recall the aston-
ishment and admiration of an English visitor
who surveyed the lock of our hall door, a
gigantic oaken box, richly embossed in brass
scroll-work. We had always accepted it as
a quite ordinary thing. Dr. Whately led
a life entirely apart — in a measure solitary.
He conveyed the idea of an uncongenial
being, quite disgusted with his banishment.
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This was conspicuous in his soured face and
lean figure, and more especially in his sneering
speeches and sarcasms at the natives and their
country, which were constantly circulated. He
must have been a most unpleasant person to
have dealings with. He was constantly in the
Green by himself. Equally disagreeable was
his fashion of making butts of his clergy,
treating them to ridiculous conundrums and
foolish jests. This seemed to come of his
contempt for the Irish clergy, whom he could
scarcely take seriously ; he found, however, a
few of real erudition, such as the late Bishop
Fitzgerald, and a few more who showed
suitable obsequiousness. In this connection,
he received a happy rebuke from Lever, the
novelist, who was walking with him and his
chaplain. The archbishop picked up a sort
of fungus, which he gave to the chaplain to
taste, insisting that it was excellent. The
latter was enchanted, declaring that " with
a little pepper and salt it would be quite
a delicacy." He then offered some to
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Lever. " No, thank you, my lord," said the
latter ; c< I am not a clergyman, and though I
have a brother in orders, he is not in your
lordship's diocese."

Dr. Trench, as the world knows, was an
amiable, accomplished, and most interesting
man, with a truly charming family, which had
quite a cachet of its own. All of them have
been agreeable and interesting people. I recall
a local jest made on his appointment, which is
not " half bad." How did he differ from a
maritime canal ? Because there the sea was
admitted into a Trench, here the Trench was
admitted into the see. I fancy he had a very
unhappy time of it. His rough, bigoted clergy,
who were but half Episcopalian, would hardly
tolerate even an old-fashioned ritual. He was
constantly harassed by the disputes and oppo-
sition ; he was too refined for such a post.
I recall his amiable wife's expression of worry,
when I was once dining with him, as she said,
" Oh, you can't know what we have to go
through ) " I fancy he often looked back
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wistfully to the old happy days in Dean's
Yard.

In the music realm jealousies raged, chiefly
owing to the mixture of the amateur and pro-
fessional elements. There was nothing local
that was of much value — everything was
"made in England." The two cathedrals were
the bed-rock or basis of the music ; but they
were altogether equipped with foreign ele-
ments. Incredible as it may seem, it was
impossible in a large city of 300,000 inhabi-
tants to find trained voices. They were
regularly imported, the basses, tenors, and
those extraordinary freaks of nature, the
counter-tenors ; and even at the cathedral of
Armagh the service was carried on by an
English colony. All these caterers aided
their ecclesiastical work by giving lessons and
singing at concerts. They were Yoakley (odd
name !), and, above all, the three Robinson
brothers — Joe, Frank, and William — Peele,
Gray, and Hemsley, and many more.
Organists, too, had to be secured in the same

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fashion, such as Dr. Turle at Armagh. There
was, however, one notable native musician, an
organist of the first class, who officiated at the
cathedrals, and was besides director of the
Trinity College Choral Society, Dr. Stewart,
later Sir Robert. He was really a very
accomplished man, a good and lively talker,
a pleasant writer and critic, a composer and
conductor with a very up-to-date knowledge
of modern music. There are few more
agreeable musical memoirs than the account
of him furnished by my friend, the Rev.
Mr. Vignoles. His wanderings abroad, to
the old German towns, visiting and playing
the various ancient instruments, with his re-
marks on their capabilities, make very agreeable
reading, and recall the amiable Dr. Burney's
" Musical Tour." He was a most vivacious
companion, and full of energy. His eccle-
siastical compositions are well known at
the English cathedrals, where " Stewart's
Anthems in A, B, or C " are often per-
formed.

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The College Society meetings just men-
tioned were most interesting gatherings,
held in the Examination Hall, which was
crowded with gownsmen and their fair
friends. There was often some composition
of the conductor performed, such as " The
Winter's Night Wake," the words by Dr.
Waller, a local poet. These efforts were
clever enough, though scarcely above the
standard of the average Maitre de Chapelle.
Their orchestration in these advanced days
would be thought rather elementary. I
well remember — it is now a good fifty
years — bringing from Aix la Chapelle the
lovely prelude to Lohengrin, which I had
heard with rapture, and which seemed to
bring the melodious spirits from Heaven
down to earth, and these I showed with
exultation to Dr. Stewart. To my astonish-
ment, he returned them, saying that he had
played them to loud laughter, and that it
was " all sheer madness." Years later, I
met him at Drury Lane, coming out from
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

the Tristram, when he had completely
fallen under the spell, and now thought
that every note of the Master was inspired !

In every society, and at every period, if one
only has observation and proper discernment,
one can notice characters just as original and
entertaining as any in Sir Walter Scott's tales.
What a singular original, for instance, was the
Joe Robinson I have mentioned ! He was
but an ordinary teaching musician, but was
much inflated by self-importance. By an odd
delusion, he seemed to be always conveying
that his real reputation was in London, where
the name " Joseph Robinson," his works and
composition, were household words. He
talked airily of all the great guns — Mendels-
sohn, Costa, e tutti quanti. I remember,
however, that when Joachim was playing in
Dublin (a most remarkable afternoon), the
great violinist came specially to his house and
played for a large company, " Joe's " charming
wife, herself a composer and executant,
accompanying him. This brilliant artiste,
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to the grief of her friends, met with a very
disastrous fate. Indeed, I could quote half a
dozen Dublin musicians of eminence who
ended in the same unhappy fashion. I fancy
this came of the almost desperate precarious-
ness of the professional life, the severe com-
petition, and the necessity of keeping up a
show, which overtaxed their resources.

Our " Joe " was so superior to local merit,
which he was incessantly depreciating, that
he could not help sacrificing what were his
own most serious interests to support his
theory. In this way he contrived to extin-
guish various languishing societies, though it
must be said that they would probably have
extinguished themselves ere long. Jealousies,
however, raged between the various musical
factions, which, like the man complacently
sawing through the branch on which he was
sitting, did not reckon the consequences to
themselves. The Irish Academy of Music,
with its professors, was jealously regarded by
those who did not belong to it ; everybody
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

wanted to teach music and be a " master " or
" mistress," and there were not pupils enough
" to go round." This young and flourishing
institution owes its success to the untiring,
never-flagging exertions of Sir Francis Brady*
son of that almost perpetual Chancellor of
Ireland, Sir Maziere Brady, supported by a
few others.

It was melancholy to see the old societies
disappearing one after the other. There used
to be an Anacreontic Society whose concerts
were very delightful, members subscribing for
tickets and giving them to their friends. That
had long since become extinct. The good old
Philharmonic soon followed. This, too, was
an interesting body, the system being to have
a semi-amateur, semi-professional orchestra,
who played classical symphonies, &c., while a
star from London was engaged. We had not
yet arrived at the travelling-party concert
system. The orchestra was directed and the
whole administered by a music-seller in Dame
Street — the worthy Bussell, a name anything
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but suggestive of his style of conducting,
which was of a torpid sort, and which caused
much amusement to the imported musicians.
The orchestra, in fact, usually conducted him,
and he would jog on at a gentle pace some-
what behind them.

Then there were the Ancient Concerts, for
performance of oratorios, the venerable
Messiah, Elijah and the rest, " Conductor —
Mr. Joseph Robinson." It was, however,
impossible to get the Dublin public to "take"
to this work. It was certainly extraordinary
that, in a city that so ostentatiously claimed to
be musical, there should have been no middle
class, as there is in all the large English
towns, workers, shopkeepers, and others, who
would devote some of their time to music.
It is really a phenomenon, and I fear must
be set down to sheer ignorance and lack of
taste. It was extraordinary, too, in so large a
population, what a dearth of orchestral
players there was. There was not an oboe-
player in the place ; and when a concert was
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

given, the whole " reed series " of performers
had to be imported en bloc from Liverpool.
Joe once told me that a good clarionet-player,
who had settled there on the chance of " odd
jobs," came to him and said that he would
like to stay if they would only guarantee him
a small pittance. Joe said it was impossible.
He at last pleaded for some ridiculous trifle,
but even this could not be done, so he packed
up his clarionet and went home. The
"Ancients" accordingly disappeared. Joe
then founded a society of his own, and on his
own lines, which held on for a few years ; but
this too, I believe, has gone into the Ewigkeit.
But though perhaps, speaking generally, the
pretensions of Dublin to being a musical city
cannot be admitted, it must be said that about
the 'sixties there was, in private circles, a
surprisingly accomplished display of musical
gifts, and an eagerness for musical perform-
ance. There was a small coterie of enthusiasts,
well cultivated in the best traditions, who
devoted themselves to these displays. There
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were the Macdonnells, Hercules and his

gifted wife, the two Tennants, the F s,

two sisters, one a fine pianist, a favourite
pupil of Thalberg's, the other a soprano of
unusual merit, and with these elements the
ball was kept rolling merrily. The Mac-
donnells were intimate with the great Italian
opera set, Costa, Grisi, Mario, Tamburini,
Lablache, and the rest. I have heard him
describe Balfe at his work, busily scoring an
opera for the orchestra in one corner of the
room, while the Italians were at work at the
piano singing and declaiming, every one talking
and chattering, the maestro himself most of
all, and scoring away merrily all the time.

Mrs. Macdonnell had a superb voice, and
could sing anything in the primadonna's rfyer-
toire. We had constant recitals of entire operas,
Don Giovanni, Lucrezia Borgia, Lucia, Don
Pasquale, and // Trovatore, with full chorus, all
well trained, and conducted by "Joe " Robin-
son. Many of these recitals were given in

Mrs. G 's tiny house, to which the

ill

Recollections of Dublin Castle

admiring Lord Carlisle was invariably de-
lighted to come with all his staff, while, with
mouth opened wider than usual, he seemed
to draw in by that aperture all the sweet
sounds. Sometimes there were " puppet
shows " at the Ancient Concert Rooms with
the same excellent corps ; Don Giovanni was
given in this fashion, the singers being con-
cealed from view, and a miniature theatre being
fitted up in front of the puppets, which were
correctly dressed, and worked by unseen hands.
I confess it seemed rather a dull performance.
The old Theatre Royal had been directed
— if direction it could be called — for a long
series of years by a well-known character, Mr.
Cole, a gentleman by birth, who was known
by the name of Calcraft — I have little doubt,
in order to save the feelings of a noble family.
His was a most extraordinary managerial
career, reckless enough, with alternate success
and desperate failure ; yet, he was a good
fellow, and had made friends; so that they
were always good-natured, and some, like
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Charles Kean, would come over specially to
do him a good turn. He contrived somehow
to keep the old theatre open for a great
number of years. At last he had to give it
up, and his friend Kean gave him the berth
of secretary or something of the kind at the
Princess's during the Shakespeare revivals.
In return, he wrote a rhapsodical panegyric
or life of his patron.

The direction being now vacant, one
Harris, said to be of the family of the managing
Harrises of Co vent Garden, stepped in and
took up the reins. This was a very shrewd
and ardent man, with a great deal of the
Harris talent, as was shown in the case of my
poor friend Augustus of that ilk, who in
exactly the same fashion rescued old Drury
from destruction. It was wonderful how he
restored public confidence, and brought the
theatre to be, instead of a desponding, ram-
shackle place, a respectable and flourishing
establishment. Harris became a household
name in Dublin, and his reign went on for a
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

good many years. He was the first to find
out Craven, the Lyceum artist, and I was
always grateful to him for getting Telbin,
that charming artist, to paint his drop scene.
But at last a tide of ill-luck overtook
him, his various ventures came to grief,
and it was said that the sudden presentation
of an alarming bill of costs drove him to
suicide.

In this matter of music our dear country
folk are ever claiming to be something that
they are not, and to be that something in a
most astonishing way. The claim, constantly
put forward, that they are the most passion-
ately musical portion of the three kingdoms
is the most ludicrous of these pretensions,
which are founded on riotous or disorderly
pantomimic proceedings carried on at opera
time. At one season it was the diva of the
moment — Piccolomini or Titiens or Patti, or
whoever it might be — who was victimised,
frantically roared at and acclaimed, having
to submit, to their great disgust, to being
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dragged home every night to the hotel, then
having to come out on the balcony and make
a speech. All this was simply got up " for
a lark," as it was regularly organised. It
was taken quite seriously by the newspapers
and manager ; the latter co-operated with
these noisy fellows, and allowed them facilities
before the doors were opened, by which
strings were run from the gallery to the
stage, which carried a bird-cage, all gilt, to
the feet of the prima donna. Then between
the acts there was chorusing, or a fellow with
a good baritone voice would give // 'Balen,
the mob joining in the chorus. Often the
scene was hindered from beginning, because
these turbulent fellows had not finished their
performance, and the stage had to wait. As
I said, all this nonsense was accepted as
evidence of the highest musical taste. Where,
it was asked — in Manchester, Birmingham,
or any English town — would you find such
Italian enthusiasm ? Which was the truth.
As I have shown, concerts, societies for
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performing classical music, have been tried
again and again, but found no support. All
the old societies, Philharmonic, Ancient Con-
certs, Harmonic, have died out one after
the other from inanition. These uproarious
admirers of prima donnas can understand
little of Wagner or Handel, though they
are rapturous over the vocal gymnastics of a
Patti. Of course, let some one come and
chant " Home, Sweet Home," or " The
Meetin' of the Waters," and the welkin is
rapt with applause. No one believed so
firmly in this pretended idolatry of music as
Lord Carlisle. He used to attend the theatre
specially to hear this riotous admiration dis-
played, or, as it were, see the drunken helots
dance. English friends on a visit to him
were brought to see a specimen of this all but
frantic devotion to musical art : " So like the
Italian crowd, you know."

These high jinks were truly extraordinary.
The whole city seemed to partake of the ex-
citement. The singers would good-naturedly
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consent to sing on the Sunday at the Catholic
Churches, such as the Marlborough Street
Cathedral, places they perhaps never visited
under other conditions, and there they would
put forth all their powers ; needless to say,
the receipts were enormous.

It was indeed a general gala. The bills
announced " Augmented Orchestra," which
signified that every instrument that could be
secured was pressed into the service. The
managers were obliged, for safety's sake, to
bring a few " leading " performers with them,
with the exception, oddly enough, of what
was the most important of all leading instru-
ments, the first violin. This was a worthy
local player, R. M. Levey, who had been
scraping and fiddling beyond the memory of
man. He was not to be disturbed, and so
he always " led," after his fashion, the full
orchestra. There was also Herr Eisner, who
" came on " as first 'cello. In all, there were
not, I think, more than thirty or forty.
The most popular of the conductors was
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Arditi — "Ah Ditty" he was always called,
and he was shouted for and cheered whenever
he made his appearance.

What delightful things we saw at that
old theatre in our childish days ! This
coming of the Italian Opera was a glimpse
of paradise, waited for impatiently ; the days,
the very hours, counted until the great
singers came. At the box-office was " old
Barry," a retired actor, one of those solid,
legitimate fellows — like old Granby — who
had known or met every famous performer,
and had wonderful stories of them. Old
Barry at all times delighted in showing himself
a rough customer, a very rough one indeed.
It was always, " Now, ma'am, I haven't time
to attend to you. Don't bother me now,"
etc. But when the Italians were coming, and
the worthy was surrounded in his little hutch
by ladies generally clamouring for places, he
threw off all the decencies. He knew his
power. It was then : " My good lady, d'ye
think I'm a fool to be listening to this ! T
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tell ye, I've no places for you." " Ah, but
my dear Mr. Barry, if you only knew ! — da
oblige me, just two places." " Indeed, I will
not, my good lady. You go away now." And
so on ; not that the worthy fellow was in the
least annoyed ; he revelled in it. Prices
were raised, then, to the vast sum of eight
shillings, invariably — only think ! — for " the
boxes and dress-boxes." The dress-boxes
had, I think, five rows of stiff uncomfortable
benches with an iron rail at the back, while
at each end the seat, your seat, was tilted up
to let the front row occupants get to their
places. But who cared for ease then, when
such artists as Grisi, Mario, Lablache were
to be heard, or Piccolomini, or Gardoni,
or Giuglini (" Jugleeny " he was often
called!) Every one came in their best gala
dress, and I can assure you the dress-boxes
made a brave show. It seemed more oper-
atic than what now obtains, for there was
such rapturous enthusiasm ! People then
went for the singing, and the orchestra was

Recollections of Dublin Castle

simply a sort of enlarged pianoforte to
accompany them, and was hushed down.
And fancy on the hoardings, " Mr. Calcraft
(i.e., Cole) has the pleasure to announce that
he has engaged Madame Grisi, Signor Mario,
Signer Lablache, Signor Ronconi, Signor
Tamburini," &c.

Can I ever forget Norma, that noble drama
and fine music, the Grand Priestess with her
classical head : with the entrancing Casta
diva, which would throw the whole theatre
into a sort of surging rapture, the mob aloft
shrieking, roaring, and yelling even. The
Sonnambula, too, with its enchanting music and
gay polacca ! We were all, so to speak, carried
off our feet by these artistes, so that we dreamt
of them, thought of them, hummed the music
all the day, and could talk of nothing else.
This feeling we have not nowadays, nor any-
thing like it. It was simply because the
voicing was so exquisite, so enchanting ; as
Lamb says, " There earth touched heaven."
Another gem that lingers in memory, and had
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an unending memory, was the last scene in
Lucia, the Fra Poco, with Edgardo among
the tombs in his black velvet ; and what a
pathetic air it is, especially when the orchestra
strikes up the second portion, which, though
in a brisker measure, goes to the heart. I
should not care to tell my friends that I have
heard Rubini in this captivating part. Nay, I
have heard Mrs. Wood, not Mrs. John of that
ilk, but the famous cantatrice, wife of Lord
W. Lennox. I recollect her distinctly as
the Jewess in the opera of that name, about to
be consigned to the furnace. Gardoni, too,
a charming singer, and many more, all
passed before us to the same tumultuous
greeting. Catherine Hayes, in Norma, threw
the whole city into convulsions of delight, but
this was mainly on account of her being a
native ; still, she had a pleasing, well-
cultivated voice, and was an interesting
dramatic creature. We juveniles of the pit
were all thrown into a fever by her attractions,
and attended night after night. That capti-
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vating little singer, Piccolomini, was often
called, even by educated persons, " Titcholo-
meeney ! " I myself once heard an eminent
judge talk of the great French politician as
" Mount a Lambert."

One of the most melancholy spectacles
conceivable was the last appearance of that
true diva, Grisi, at the Theatre Royal. It
was her farewell ; I think her very last
appearance. She had not been heard for
many years, but somehow her old splendid
tradition lingered on. It was Lucrezia,
and great was the expectancy. The first
shock was the spectacle of so antique and
well-worn a dame ; but what was it when she
came to essay " runs " and high notes and
such gymnastics ? Each effort was accom-
panied by a contortion of face, showing the
pain there was to accomplish the business; and
then her voice itself — what an inharmonious
screech! The natives, I am glad to say, did
not laugh or jeer; but they were discreetly
silent from astonishment and amusement,
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and yet all her songs had been "let down."
Mario, too, lagged inglorious on the scene
until he came at last to do little more than
speak in whispers — a shattered piece of
debris.

What enchanting things were the operas of
the old days ! I love the present system of
opera as much as anybody, and am a frantic
admirer of the New Music. But in those
Norma and Sonnambula days, bless you ! it
was another thing altogether. Those of the
present generation cannot understand ; because
they have no standard with which to compare
their present music. There rises before me
at this moment many an enchanting scene,
say the quartette in the Puritani or the
polacca — not a sound, not a whisper in the
audience — all enrapt, entranced ! There was
no intrusive accompaniment, no noisy brass,
or braying; it was all pure voicing; people
listened to catch the soft tender whisperings
and harmonies, which it was quite easy
to do.

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Recollections of Dublin Castle

One of the most characteristic scenes oc-
curred during an engagement of Sims Reeves
and some great prima donna , tempore Calcraft.
Lucia was announced, but there had been
a fight with the manager on the question of
cash, and the tenor positively refused to appear
unless his claim was met. The manager put
one of his corps into the part and Lucia
was produced. The scene that follows defies
description. The substitute was a German
named awkwardly Herr Damke, and the dis-
appointed galleries made numerous jests on
" damned key," &c. : but when it was found
that he was a wretched poor creature who
could not sing at all, all the mirth changed
to fury. At last, attempting a high note, his
voice gave way in a ludicrous manner. Lucia
made him a low curtsey and quitted the stage,
and the whole theatre was in a riot. The
manager came and declared it was not his
fault ; Mr. Reeves had refused to sing ; he
had no one to put in his place. Suddenly
Reeves, who had been sitting in the boxes,
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appeared on the stage beside the manager, and
in a rather defiant and threatening fashion
contradicted him to loud cheers. After a
heated discussion, Reeves declared to the
audience that he would not sing for Calcraft ;
but for them it was a different matter ; and at
that moment, if they desired it, he was ready
to perform. Cheers rent the air, the singer
rushed to don the hapless Damke's dress,
and in a few minutes was singing Edgardo
in a more passionate style than he had ever
done before.

In the earlier portion of this little collection,
I mentioned some tales of the Dublin modistes
and of their patronage by her present amiable
Majesty. To one of these artists, engaged in
submitting patterns and measuring, H.R.H. re-
marked— so went the story — "Now, Mrs. ,

will you fill me in a little at the back." On

which Mrs. , turning to her assistant :

" Mind, Miss , as to Her Royal Highness s

vacancy." A speech that caused great amuse-
ment in the Royal circle, specially to His R.H.
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

At a dinner-party we were all amused at
an obstreperous fellow humorously disputing
with a very fair neighbour. " What's the
matter ? " said the host. " Why, here's

Miss wanting to father on me something

that I never did." We all felt for the poor
girl. I once heard an honest patriot say in a

London drawing-room : " Ah, Miss ,

you're Irish to your backbone " — a compli-
ment not much relished by the lady. Alas,
for us poor Pats ! They look down on us all
— though not disinclined to patronise. Even
the faithful, good-humoured yellow terrier —
though highly popular and in fashion — is
considered " so very Irish " — and, it must
be said, has a physiognomy and gait that
strangely recalls his human fellow country-
men. I once heard a clever Irishman give a
lecture on the Irish stage, in which, after
dwelling on the number of actors and actresses
of Irish birth — which is indeed astonishing —
he proceeded to " claim " various performers,
such as Mrs. Siddons. For, at one not very
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flourishing period of her life, she was under
the patronage of an Irish peeress. " Now,"
said our friend with all gravity, " is it not
likely that if she had not been thus befriended,
she would never have reached to fame : and
so it came about, you see, that this Irish
influence determined her success." There
was applause. But the gay and mercurial
Charles Wyndham, who was presiding, at
this worked himself into a state of comic
indignation. " Good Heavens ! " he ex-
claimed, " Mrs. Siddons an Irishwoman !
What next ? After this I begin to tremble
for Shakespeare, who makes Hamlet quote
St. Patrick." And this pleasant vein he
pursued for a long time.

One can always turn to the obituary notices
for entertainment, and here, strange to say,
we do not find so much praises of the
deceased as testimonies to the sore grief
of the survivors. He is always " deeply
regretted by his sorrowing wife and children,"
or to "the inexpressible grief of his family."
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Recollections of Dublin Castle

This is the regular shape, though one thinks
the fact might be assumed as a matter of
course. Another common " form " is to
inform the public that he departed " after a
long and tedious illness." Tedious by all
means, but to whom ? Painful and agonizing
no doubt the poor patient found it ; but
" tediousness " is the last thing he would
think of. For the " sorrowing relatives " it
was, perhaps, tedious enough.

I have now gossiped long enough, and
have fairly emptied my wallet. As I draw to
a close, the image of a pleasant creature —
Bob G , full of fun, frolic, and reckless-
ness— one of the last of the old Irish squireens,
rises before me. There were endless stories
of Bob and his escapades — his drink, &c.
Once, finding himself out of funds (for this
latter purpose), his pockets empty, he entered
an undertaker's office, and describing at length
a recent demise in his family, asked earnestly
about interment " on the handsomest scale,'*
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made an agreement, then, feeling " faint,"
asked for some of the usual restorative. This
was eagerly furnished, and Bob, having con-
sumed as much as he desired, rose and made
for the door. " But, sir," said the under-
taker eagerly, "the body?" "Ah, my
friend," said the humorous Bob, "that is
for you. You II have to find the body."

Another story told of Bob is better, and is
good evidence of his shrewdness. He had
been at some country ball, where he had
been philandering it all night with a pretty
little Privateer, daughter — or one of the
daughters, for she had a sister — of a country
attorney, a class of professionals whom Bob
never named without a devout "saving
your -presence!" Bob, as his wont was,,
had been also priming himself with drink,
and by about three in the morning had
committed himself so far as to propose in
form. No sooner was the act done than he
was conscious of his folly, and only thought
how he could extricate himself. Now, how
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would you, clever reader ? Exercise your wit,
and devise something — but you can't. I could
imagine no more difficult problem. But Bob
was a fertile fellow — it was child's play to
him. What do you think he did? The
young lady, as we have seen, had a sister,
who was just returning from her dancing
as her sister was seen hurrying down to the
supper-room to acquaint the father with the
joyful news. Bob danced \viththis girJ, made
desperate love to her, and actually within a
few minutes had proposed to her! The
rest was easy : for the two girls came with
the same story to their sire, who of course
said they were a pair of fools ; that nothing
"tangible, sur," could be founded on the
joint act. It was Bob all over.

I have spoken of the Dublin carmen.
Here is an instance of their pleasant sagacity.

A returned missionary, the Rev. W

S d, who was made much of, was invited

to dine by a person whose name at the last

moment he had forgotten, though he recalled

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that of his residence, which was in Harcourt
Street. " What am I to do ? " he said to his
driver. " O, nivir mind, sorr," was the reply,
" I'll find him for you." " But you can't, my
good friend. How are you to look for him, as
you don't know his name ? It's impossible."
And so it seemed. " O, lave it to me, sorr."
Accordingly he drove to Harcourt Street,
and, beginning at the top, knocked at each
door, making the one inquiry until he got
halfway down, when he gaily rejoined his
employer. " It's all right, sorr — it's here ! "
And what was his simple inquiry ? " Does

the Rev. Father S d live here ? " " No."

At last he received the answer, "No, he
doesn't : but we are expecting him to
dinner." The ready and ingenious fellow
was thus successful.

At one time we had a sapient, slow-moving
butler in our house, of whom it might be said,
as it was of a certain Chancellor, " No one ever
was so wise as he looked." There was a
notable conflagration in Dublin which our
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.friend witnessed, or said he did. We
used specially to ask him to tell the tale.
"Dodds, you saw the great fire of 18 — ?"
" 'Deed, and I did, sir ! " « Well, tell us all
about it." " You see, sir, it was this way.
I had gone to bed — much as usual — but
somehow I didn't feel quite aisy. Still, I went
to sleep. Then I woke, and I saw on the
window a sort of flashing like, goin' up and
down, you know. Well, sir, I sat up, and I
said to myself, ' Now, what's this — what does
it mean?' Then it went down ; then it got
up again — and after a while I lay back and
went to sleep. Well, sir, after a while I
woke again — and there, shure enough, was the
dartin' up and down again. Then I sat up
and I said to myself, * Now, could this be —
a fire ? ' And after looking on for a time I
said, ' Why it must be a fire.' Then I heard
the people shoutin' and runnin' through the
street, and the rumblin' o' the engines ; and
then, sir, I knew it was a fire — I was certain
of it. Well, sir, would you believe it— it
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turned out next morning I was quite right,
and all the papers were full of the terriblest
fire that had been seen in Dublin ! "

" Well, you found it out in time, Dodds."
" Yes, sir, though at first I wasn't sure ;
but at last I knew there was a fire."

The Native has no more to tell, so he
takes ofF his caubeen and makes his bow.

THE END

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